


The Request

by cloudyjenn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-03
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 19:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudyjenn/pseuds/cloudyjenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam Winchester prays for his brother, Castiel is finally sent on his very first assignment.  But what should be a simple love match turns into much more and Castiel finds himself risking everything to ensure the happiness of his extremely frustrating charge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into English available: [La Solicitud](https://archiveofourown.org/works/601932) by [LRobinSkylar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LRobinSkylar/pseuds/LRobinSkylar)



He's been waiting for thousands of years and Castiel still hasn't been assigned a human.

It's getting embarrassing.

His supervisor, Michael, assures Castiel it has nothing to do with his relative skill. Castiel's passed all the tests with the highest scores possible. Intellectually, he's more than ready. But, as Michael explains patiently for what seems like the thousandth time, the Father only passes down assignments to angels that exactly fit the job. It's supposed to be reassuring, but all Castiel hears is that out of the billions of humans who request their assistance, Castiel isn't good enough to help any of them.

Castiel knows his colleagues have moved past pity and are beginning to wonder if Castiel deserves his position. They are starting to wonder if Castiel's strange appearance means he's not really one of them after all.

What's worse is that his garrison is typically very busy. Uriel barely has enough time to collect his prayers before he's assigned another human in need. Anna is highly sought after for her skill in emergency life-saving. Zachariah can take credit for the creation of several powerful nations.

And then there's Castiel. Young inexperienced Castiel with his too large wings and his days spent keeping the books for his garrison because he literally has nothing else to do. There's only so many times an angel can fly the obstacle courses or study the manuscripts or listen to Michael's many educational lectures before they have it all memorized. Castiel feels certain he could teach a class on how to run a garrison and yet, he's never even met a human. He's little more than a glorified secretary.

Which is why he doesn't suspect anything significant is about to happen that morning when Michael greets him in the council chambers.

"Hello, Castiel," Michael says as he peers around the room Castiel spent the night cleaning. "Did you not rest last evening?"

"No," Castiel answers simply. He resists the urge to remind Michael that he has no need to rest since he rarely expends any of his grace. Michael would judge the comment too close to complaining.

"I see," Michael says. He sets his usual stack of papers on the table and takes his seat. "You know I want you to rest every night, Castiel. You never know when you could receive orders."

"Of course," Castiel says automatically. He thinks they both know exactly when Castiel will receive orders. "I won't stay up anymore."

"Good," Michael says, whipping out his reading glasses and plunking them down on his thin nose. "Let's see what we have this morning then."

Castiel draws out the chair beside Michael and sits. Since he is the only angel with free time, Castiel helps Michael sort through the assignments each morning and gather the necessary warriors to carry them out. Despite his poor mood, Castiel feels himself relax a little. This is his favorite unofficial duty. It's exciting to see all the crises and worries humans lend to Heaven and to find out which of his many brothers is suited to dealing with them.

"A young woman in Esenguly, Turkmenistan sends a request on the behalf of her dying sister," Michael reads. He hands the paper to Castiel. "Urgent slot, if you please. Send Anna."

Castiel slides the paper into the thin narrow slot marked URGENT REQUESTS. He hears a low booming sound that signals Anna's departure to her newest charge. Another human helped. Castiel smiles and again, feels some of his bitterness slipping away. Even if he can't help them, he's glad his kind is available to soothe the distresses of humanity.

"A five-year old boy in Ottawa, Canada wants us to heal his sick hamster," Michael says with vast amusement. It's a good thing that request was sent to their garrison. Michael is fairly indulgent of these types of lesser claims. Unlike Gabriel, who believes tough love is best. Or Raphael, who is easily annoyed when he feels humans aren't taking them seriously.

"This is time-sensitive, but not urgent," Michael decides and he shares a conspiratorial grin with Castiel. "Our Father wants me to send Uriel. I think it's His way of knocking Uriel down a few pegs."

Castiel tries not to laugh at his brother's expense, but it's a difficult task. If anything could ease Uriel's arrogance, being forced to perform a miracle on a rodent would be just the thing. Castiel takes the paper and slides it into the BY DAY'S END slot. Uriel will have to take care of the hamster before the night shift, but he doesn't have to go now.

Michael picks up the next page.

"Let's see. A man in Kansas wants us to help his brother find a love match," he reads. Castiel nods. He assumes the Father will send Rahmiel because she's known for her match-making skills. Castiel does not envy her the job. Love matching was always his worst subject in school. Not because the rules are hard to follow, but because Castiel has trouble understanding human romantic love. Love in general, he gets. But the whole process of finding a soul-mate involves far too much jealousy and angst for Castiel's tastes.

"We're to send..." Michael trails off as his light brown eyes flick down the page to the assignment box. "Oh, dear."

"What is it?" Castiel asks.

"Our Father has given this job to..." He looks up at Castiel with uncharacteristic consternation.

"Well, to you."

"What?"

Castiel grabs the sheet from Michael and reads it with a growing sense of disbelief.

 **REQUESTER:** Samuel Winchester

 **LOCATION:** Lawrence, Kansas, United States of America

 **REQUEST:** _It's probably stupid, but I was wondering if you could maybe find someone for my brother. He's just...he's really lonely. He needs someone. I just want him to be happy._

 **SPECIFICS:** The subject of the prayer is Dean Winchester, 30 year old male who has yet to meet his soul-mate. The assigned angel will need to find him a partner and has authorization to appear to both requester and subject. The search shall last no more than seven days.

 **ASSIGNED ANGEL:** Castiel

 

"I don't understand," Castiel says faintly. "I'm not..." His eyes snap up to meet Michael's. "You said our Father would give me a job that suited me. This doesn't suit me at all. I'm terrible at romance!"

He's dangerously close to full-on panic. How could his Father trust this poor man's happiness to Castiel? How is it possible that Castiel's waited for thousands of years only to be given a task he's certain to fail?

"Castiel," Michael says, tone commanding. He clamps both hands around Castiel's shoulders and shakes him slightly. "Calm down. You know better than that. If our Father gave you this job, you can be sure there is no other angel who could possibly accomplish it."

A smile spreads across Michael's face and he eases his grip.

"This is what you've been waiting for, Castiel. Your first assignment. Don't panic. This is a time of joy," he says with such obvious sincerity that Castiel is able to let some of his turmoil go. Not all, but enough for rational thought to return to his mind.

"I have nothing, but faith in you," Michael says. He takes the sheet from Castiel's shaky fingers and slides it into the URGENT REQUESTS slot. "Perhaps not exactly urgent, but after waiting all this time, I'd say you should get a move on, don't you agree?"

Castiel can do nothing more than nod and stand. His wings tremble against his back and for a brief terrible moment, Castiel fears they will refuse to work. This is the first time he's ever left Heaven. The first time he's used his huge clumsy wings to do more than flit from one celestial building to the next.

"Good luck, brother," Michael says solemnly. They match gazes for a long moment, long enough for some of Michael's conviction to transmit itself into Castiel's grace.

Michael is right. Their Father doesn't make mistakes. He keeps that thought in the front of his mind as he transports to the launching pad and steps on it. A second later, it activates and Castiel is shot away, breaking past the higher barrier into the human world.

***************************

The first thing Castiel does is get lost.

The two-dimensional maps are a lot different than the real thing. He doesn't expect so many places on Earth to look the same. Or at least they do in the area where his requester lives. It takes two tries to find the correct state in his country and three more till Castiel locates the correct town. Once he finally lands in Lawrence, Castiel realizes he can vaguely sense the direction of his initial prayer. The sensation is so alien that Castiel pauses in the street, just so he can bask in the sweet glow of trust and need.

A few passing humans stop to stare at him. Angels are common enough in daily human life, but Castiel knows he makes a strange picture. Most angels wear the same long tight uniform and sport waist-length white wings. But Castiel’s never been given a uniform. He's still wearing the clothes he chose the day before, a plain blue suit and long tan coat.

But it's not his clothes that the humans find fascinating. It's the giant black wings that drape off his back and drag the ground behind him. They've never seen another angel like him and he knows it because he's never seen another angel like him either. He can hear them wondering if Castiel can really be an angel or if he's something else entirely, something sinister and dangerous. Castiel's always been self-conscious of his ugly wings and this does not help. He begins to worry that he will find Samuel Winchester only to be turned away when Sam sees him.

Yet Castiel knows he can't let his fear of rejection keep him from his task. His Father is counting on him, so Castiel shuts out the other humans and concentrates on Samuel's prayer. The light of it carries him away from that street to the front of a stark white house with a blue door. Castiel recalls his lessons on greeting humans carefully before walking to the blue door and rapping his knuckles on it.

A moment later, the door opens to reveal the very first human Castiel will ever properly meet.

The human is male. He is taller than Castiel and his body is thicker. The hair cut short on his head is brown and his eyes are a soft green. His sturdy form is clothed in plain blue pants and a checkered buttoned shirt over another single-colored shirt. When he sees Castiel, his expression of curiosity deepens to confusion. Castiel is surprised by how pleasing he finds this human. He's seen many pictures of humans, after all. None of them compared to the beauty of his brothers, but Castiel thinks this human could possibly compete.

"What the hell are you supposed to be?" the human asks. His voice is deep and a little hoarse and it shakes Castiel out his contemplative silence.

"Are you Samuel Winchester?"

"No," the human says, shaking his head and narrowing his eyes at Castiel. "I'm Dean. I'm his brother. What do you want with him?"

He sounds suspicious and Castiel smells his sudden fear.

"There's no need to be afraid," Castiel says. "He requested my help."

Now that he knows this is the prayer's subject, Castiel takes a closer look at the man. If Dean is unattached, Castiel assumes it's not because other humans find him unattractive. Although, it's possible they have different standards from angels. He'll have to remember to ask Michael later. In the meantime, Castiel searches under the surface details to the soul beneath.

He is shocked by what he sees. Dean's soul is strong and pure and full of love. So much love to give a partner. It glows with protective loyalty and a tendency to devotion. He'd been expecting to find a soul cluttered by selfishness or arrogance or any number of unpleasant human failings that would keep potential mates away. Castiel can see scars crossing over the soul in deep jagged lines and he's recognizes no human is perfect, but despite this, Castiel would have thought many humans would be eager to join with a person like Dean.

He's probably just missing something. This is why he feared this assignment. Love matches require such intimate knowledge of human nature and Castiel only knows what he’s read in books. Like with the maps, he fears the real thing will prove far more complex.

"Well, you can't be an angel with those wings," Dean says, nodding at Castiel's accursed wings. "And a demon would have just busted in here, so what does that make you?"

Castiel flushes with embarrassment. No wonder he's never been given a job before. Most angels don't have to worry about convincing their charges that they actually _are_ angels.

"I am an angel of the Lord," Castiel says, lifting his chin in defiance. "Not all angels are the same, you know."

"I gotta tell ya, buddy, I've not really met a lot of you people, so I wouldn't really know," Dean says and he leans against the door frame. Castiel wants to be aggravated with him, but Dean looks so fetching in that position that Castiel finds it hard to retain his frustration.

"Then why did you judge me so?" Castiel asks.

Dean shrugs.

"Hey, a guy with fucking huge black wings shows up looking for my brother and I'm just supposed to give him over? For all I know, you're the angel of Death and if that's the case, you can just forget it and move on. No angels are taking Sammy anywhere," Dean says.

The protectiveness Castiel sensed earlier flares brightly within Dean and Castiel has no doubt Dean would fight him to the death for his brother's sake. Dean hunches forward, trying to make himself appear menacing, but Castiel finds his defense of Samuel so endearing that the effect is lost on him.

"I'm not the Angel of Death, Dean," Castiel says. "I've never even met the Angel of Death. My name is Castiel and I've been sent to answer Samuel's prayer."

"Huh. Is that so? And, tell me, Castiel, what exactly did Sam pray for?" Dean asks. His tone is light, even mocking, but Castiel sees him growing tense.

"That is not for me to reveal," Castiel says, relieved to fall back onto the rules. Speaking with Dean makes him feel unsettled.

Dean doesn't like that answer, but when he searches Castiel's face, he apparently sees something that convinces him to relax his shoulders. Without taking his eyes off Castiel, Dean turns his head and yells down the hallway leading to the front door.

"Hey, Sammy, it's for you!"

There is a thundering noise that Castiel identifies as someone large stomping down a set of stairs just as Sam bursts into view. Castiel is correct in assuming that Sam is a large human. He is lanky and tall, towering over both Castiel and Dean. When he sees Castiel, his mouth turns up in a cheerful grin and Castiel decides that while he doesn't find Sam as pleasing as Dean, he is still an attractive human.

"It worked!" Sam holds out a hand. It takes Castiel far too long to remember he's supposed to take Sam's hand and receive a shake. Castiel doesn't know what hand-shaking signifies, but after he does it, Dean relaxes even further.

"Come in, come in," Sam says happily and he tugs Castiel into the house. "Wow, your wings are really black. Look at that, Dean," Sam says in apparent wonder.

"I saw," Dean deadpans. He shuts the door behind Castiel and though he is no longer suspicious of danger, Castiel can tell he's not strictly comfortable having an angel in the house.

"They're just peachy, Sam. Now tell me why you asked for angel help," he says as Sam leads them into a wide room filled with sunlight and thick cushy chairs.

"Don't be rude, Dean," Sam says, sidestepping the question. "Have a seat, um...I'm sorry, I didn't get your name?"

"It's Castiel," Dean says before Castiel can answer and he sounds rather annoyed. Sam ignores him in favor of giving Castiel another smile.

"Castiel. Please sit. Are you thirsty? Or do angels drink?" Sam's voice is breathless and shaky with nerves. Castiel's brothers told him that humans often feel overwhelmed in the presence of powerful creatures like angels. Castiel doesn't understand why. Angels are powerful, yes, but they exist to help humans, not hurt them.

"No, thank you," Castiel answers politely. Michael would be proud. He stresses the importance of remaining calm and polite at all times, even when faced with frustrating and irrational humans.

Sitting on the couch is a trying task. His wings refuse to bend under him and none of the chairs are constructed with wing rests, so Castiel is forced to nearly wrap himself in a cocoon of his own feathers in order to get seated. Sam watches this process with wide interested eyes. Once Castiel is finally settled, Sam points to his wings, apparently about to ask a question about them, but Dean interrupts him with an exasperated sigh.

"Sam," he says warningly.

"Alright," Sam says, flinging up a hand to hold back Dean's next complaint. "I prayed for you, ok?"

"Why? There's nothing wrong with me!" The tension snaps back into Dean's body and he crosses his arms over his chest in a gesture Castiel recognizes from his lessons as innately defensive. Sam probably should have discussed this issue with Dean before Castiel showed up and not while Castiel is sitting quietly between them.

"Dean, ever since Jess and I got married, you've been depressed. Since before then even," Sam said heatedly. "You haven't had a real relationship in years. All you ever have are one night stands that make you feel like crap and don't tell me you like it," Sam says when Dean starts to protest.

"We all know you like sex, but I can see it's not enough anymore. You've taken care of me our whole lives and now that I'm starting a family, I don't know, Dean." He looks down at his hands twisting in his lap, obviously in distress. "It's like you're getting left behind or something. But people grow up."

Dean turns away from Sam with a derisive snort, but Castiel can see Sam's words have stirred a deeply entrenched hurt.

"I'll always need you, Dean," Sam says to Dean's back. "You're my brother and that won't ever change. But I have someone to share my life with now. You deserve that too. You deserve your own family and someone who loves you like Jess loves me. And you're not even trying. So yeah, I prayed for you. Sue me. Castiel can help you find someone perfect."

There is silence for a very long time after this short, but impassioned speech. Castiel feels honored by Sam's confidence. He just hopes he won't betray that trust with match-making skills as clumsy and awkward as the wings folded over his lap.

"You really believe that, don't you?" Dean says softly.

"I do," Sam confirms. "I know how you feel about angels, but please just trust me. I really think Castiel can help."

Castiel frowns at Dean. He doesn't know what Sam means about Dean's feelings, but judging by the way Dean's soul darkens, it doesn't sound promising. This job keeps getting more and more difficult. First, he's given a love match on his very first outing and now it seems his charge might not even trust angels.

"Yeah, well...did it occur to you that I might not want 'someone perfect'?" Dean asks while curling the first two fingers of each hand up and down. The gesture's meaning eludes Castiel, but Sam seems to understand because he rolls his eyes at Dean.

"No, not really. If you wanted me to believe that, you shouldn't let me catch you giving me and Jess all those 'woe is me' looks," Sam says. "I swear, I thought you had a thing for Jess for awhile there until I realized you’re just pathetic and needy."

"I'm not pathetic. You're pathetic. Shut up," Dean says, but there is a very small smile hiding at the corner of his mouth.

"That's what I thought," Sam says. He turns back to Castiel finally, which is a relief because Castiel didn't want to deal with a full-blown fight on his very first assignment.

"So how do we start?" he asks eagerly.

Castiel takes a moment to gather his thoughts. Love matches are tricky. First, the assigned angel has to learn as much as possible about his charge, including whether that charge is harboring secret feelings for someone already in their lives. If not, then the angel must begin their search by following their charge to all of their normal meeting places. When the charge is in close proximity to possible mates, the angel can use his powers to project the two humans' future together. The future which most suits the charge will belong to his soul-mate.

In other words, this is going to take a lot of work.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean feels certain he's going to be forced to kill Sam.

Concern is one thing. Dean may not be the most forthcoming guy, but he's not a dick. He appreciates concern and yeah, maybe Sam has a point with his too frequent one-night stands. It's getting harder to drudge up the energy to charm his latest conquest into bed and less fun to wake up beside someone whose name he can't remember.

Still, it's quite a long way to go from concern to _requesting_. Dean could have started with a couple of real dates, but no. Because of Sam's _concern_ , Dean's stuck being followed by a friggin' angel. Dean hates angels. He hates the way people fawn over them when angels really couldn't care less about the people they're supposedly sent to help. Dean doesn't understand how Sam can still trust them.

And he didn't even get a regular angel. They sent him a freak. The guy's face is normal enough. The dark hair and blue eyes are a little out of the ordinary and he stares too much, like maybe he's never seen Earth or humans before, but otherwise, his features are angel-typical, Dean thinks. But his outfit, the loose skewed tie and long disheveled trench coat make him look like the Angel of creepy flashers. All he needs is a bottle of whiskey in a brown bag and he could pass for one of those bums in the city park.

Even that would be ok if it weren't for those wings.

Dean's only seen one other angel in person, a pretty red-haired female that he met when he was four years old. He can't remember much about her other than she had neatly groomed and well-behaved white wings that ended just above her waist. Pretty much every other angel he's seen on the news or in magazines have the exact same type of wings.

And then there are Castiel’s wings. They're a glossy pitch-black that seems to suck light from the space around them. They arch high over Castiel's shoulders and flow down his back all the way to the floor. Here and there, a single feather is bent at an odd angle and they have a generally unkempt quality, as if Castiel hasn't taken the time to tidy them in a long while. And they won't stay still. Even when Castiel sits motionless on Sam's sofa, the wings flutter and stretch, flap and quiver. It's crazy, but Dean has to fight the desire to reach out to the wings and soothe them. Or at least brush them.

It's distracting.

And he's going to have to handle it for the next week because Sam won't let him out of it and that's how long Castiel says it will take to find Dean a partner.

"Well, here we are," Dean says as he opens the door into his apartment. "Home sweet home."

The one-bedroom loft isn't much to look at, but Castiel seems enthralled as he peers around the living room.

"This is all yours?" Castiel asks.

Dean frowns and follows Castiel’s gaze over his ratty green couch, his too small television and the dirty fireplace he hardly ever uses.

"Oh yeah, all these riches are mine," Dean says. Truth be told, he likes his apartment. At the far end of the living room, there is a short set of stairs that lead up to a landing where his bed sits. Meaning he can watch his TV in bed, which is awesome. Another set of stairs are situated beside the first set, but these lead down into a kitchen which is located beneath the bedroom landing. One more door on the other side of the living room leads off to his bathroom.

It's kinda small, but it has everything Dean needs. He's been living there since he graduated from college. There's never been any reason to leave and really, Dean's not a fan of change just for the sake of change. So yeah, he's pretty fond of the place.

Still, it's nowhere near nice enough to explain the strange longing he sees in Castiel's bright blue eyes.

"I take it you don't have apartments in Heaven," he says lightly.

"I share a bed chamber with several of my brothers," Castiel says, his eyes glued to the one luxury in Dean's place, his massive wooden bed with its thick down comforter. Dean doesn't believe in being uncomfortable while sleeping.

"No privacy," Dean says. He nods to the couch and Castiel begins the complicated process of fitting himself and his giant wings onto the seat. "That must suck."

"Angels have no need for privacy," Castiel says, but Dean doesn't believe him. Not when he keeps stealing glances at the bed. Dean wonders privately if Castiel's thinking to himself that his wings would fit better in a king-sized bed than they do on whatever stupid cots angels use. In fact, Dean finds it a little too easy to imagine Castiel sprawled out on his bed, his wings splayed wide and stretched free.

Probably not a good thought to have about angels, Dean tells himself.

"Right," he says as he falls into the ugly, but beloved orange recliner he inherited from his father. "What now?"

Castiel drags his focus back to Dean.

"I need to ask you some questions. Try to relax and answer honestly," he says, pulling out a small notebook and a pen. Dean raises an eyebrow at him. He didn't realize angels used such mundane methods. But then, he's been avoiding the things for over twenty-five years, so he's not exactly an expert.

"Alright then, take your best shot," Dean says.

Castiel flashes him a brief look of confusion, but doesn't comment on the unfamiliar phrase. Instead, he flips open the notepad and asks his first question.

"Do you prefer romantic relationships with men or women?"

Dean shrugs.

"I'm not picky," he says.

It's not the exact truth. Dean dates more women, sure, but it's mostly because he likes the guys better and it's harder to do the one-night stand blow-off to someone when they can tell you genuinely like them. Not without feeling like a jerk. Still, it's close enough and Dean doesn't feel like spilling his guts to an angel.

"Interesting," Castiel says, tapping the end of his pen against as his chin as he gazes at Dean. It makes Dean shift uncomfortably in his chair. Damned angel and his damned X-ray vision.

"What?" Dean snaps.

"Nothing," Castiel answers and he makes a note on his paper. "Are you currently in love?"

"Seriously?"

They must really be swamped upstairs if this is the kind of help they sent Sam.

"If I was in love, what would be the point of Sam praying to you guys?"

The intensity of Castiel's gaze only increases. Dean fidgets and it takes him a few moments of wondering what the hell the angel sees before he realizes Castiel is probably scanning his mind or something.

"Hey, stop that," Dean says angrily, jabbing a finger in Castiel's direction. "Don't read my thoughts."

"I'm not," Castiel denies. "I was merely trying to discern if you were being truthful. I don't have to listen to your specific thoughts to do that."

"Right, that makes me feel so much better," Dean growls, crossing his arms and holding them stiff against his chest. "You're still using your Jedi mind tricks on me."

"I...don't know what that means," Castiel says slowly. "I'm sorry, but if I don't watch your soul, I can't do my job properly."

"Can't you just take my word for it?" Dean asks. Ideally, Dean wants to do whatever will help Castiel do his job as quickly as possible and get the hell out of Dean's life. But that doesn't include having his thoughts and feelings on loan to an angel.

"No. Humans don't always know what's in their own hearts," Castiel says, but it sounds like he's reciting a textbook. "You may not think you're in love, but you could be lying to yourself."

More angel superiority, Dean thinks as he narrows his eyes at Castiel.

"Am I lying?"

Castiel has the decency to look slightly embarrassed.

"No," he admits quietly. "But I wouldn't have known that if I didn't investigate your heart. I don't mean to be intrusive, but this is my duty. I want to do it well."

It's everything Dean's always hated about angels. Duty and rules and never making an exception for real human emotion. Castiel probably thinks he'll divine Dean's perfect mate and they'll fall in love just like that. No problems, no doubts. Just everything tied up in a neat bow and if goes to shit, Castiel won't care because he'll be on to the next faceless human in his long list.

"Right, you know what? This isn't going to work," Dean says and he stands. Any normal human would have gotten the hint, but Castiel remains seated, staring up at Dean with an alarmed expression.

"What do you mean?" The innocent dismay captured in that one sentence tugs at Dean in a way he didn't expect. It's those damned eyes. No one's eyes are that blue. And the way he looks at Dean, like Dean is some kind fascinating revelation isn't right. People don't look at Dean like that. There's no call for it.

"Stop that," Dean snaps, but it just makes it worse. Castiel's eyes widen and he tilts his head, confused and upset and _staring_.

"Stop what?"

"Stop looking at me with your big stupid eyes," he growls, flushing red.

"I have nothing else to look at you with," Castiel says. He closes the little notebook and sets it aside, finally standing to face Dean.

"We should talk about your problem with angels because I have no intention of leaving this job unfinished."

Someone else might find the words threatening, but Dean doesn't hear them that way. Castiel's tone is plain, no implications hiding behind his meaning. It's just the simple truth. Nothing more or less. No nonsense. Dean remembers the red-haired angel was the same way. No matter what anyone said or did, she wouldn't change her mind and now one of her brothers is sitting in front of Dean, saying the same thing.

Fucking angels.

"You just don't get it," Dean says.

Castiel looks away, his expression troubled and that won't do. Dean steps right in his personal space and tilts his head down to capture the gaze he now wants. Castiel allows it, but with reluctance, like he's only looking at Dean because he can't help himself. When Dean speaks, he keeps his voice slow and steady, so Castiel won't miss a word.

"Angels don't give a damn about us," Dean says. This close to him, it's easy to catch the brief flash of unimaginable hurt in Castiel's eyes and Dean almost falters. Then he remembers hearing the red-haired angel's sad, but firm refusal before she left them alone in the street. It steels his resolve and Dean can tell Castiel senses it because he flinches.

"I don't need you and I don't want you," he says softly.

If Dean thought Castiel's hurt had been intense, it's nothing compared to the anguish he sees there now. His chest compresses, tightening so painfully that Dean struggles for his next breath. God, it's a hundred times worse than kicking a puppy. A stupidly irrational part of him wants to take it all back, but the stupidly stubborn part won't let him. So he just swallows hard and tries his best not to look away as Castiel's eyes flicker from side to side in his desperation to understand what's happening to him.

"This isn't right," Castiel finally says and his eyes stop on Dean's face once again. "You must need me. Father gave you to me."

Dean blinks. "Gave me...what the hell...?"

"I've been waiting so long for you, Dean," Castiel says and suddenly he's even closer, so close that Dean can feel his chest filling with breath. "All the long years of my life without a request and I’ve finally been given this task. You're my first human. You _must_ need me. Please don't send me away."

 _He's an angel_ Dean thinks and he tries to hold onto that thought, but he can’t. Not when faced with Castiel's earnest plea, his naked longing. Dean can't remember the last time someone needed him this badly. The last time someone needed him so much they ached with it.

It’s impossible to resist.

"Okay," he murmurs. "Okay, I won't."

Castiel watches him for a moment, probably trying to figure out what Dean’s thinking just from his expression. But Dean doesn't really know what he's feeling. Except something's different now because he’s not just another notch in Castiel's belt. He's important. Castiel’s first. And while he still doesn't trust angels, Dean doesn't have it in him to disappoint the guy.

"Thank you," Castiel says once he's satisfied. His wings flap a little and move forward in a strange aborted movement, as if they wanted to reach towards Dean, then decided otherwise. It's freaky how they seem to act independent of Castiel's will.

"Yeah, well," Dean says in his graceless attempt to accept the thanks. "Just promise me you won’t read my thoughts or whatever. Stay out of my soul.”

“I won’t be able to avoid sensing your surface emotions,” Castiel says apologetically. “But I won’t pry any deeper.”

It’s a concession, a trade-off for being allowed to stay on the job and Dean appreciates it.

“Good. Okay. So, what now?”

"I think I have enough information to start the search process," Castiel says with a smile. Dean isn't comfortable with the way he can't help staring at Castiel's mouth. "I'll return tomorrow morning."

"You're leaving?" Which is exactly what he wanted, so why Dean feels a tinge of disappointment is beyond him.

"I must rest," Castiel says with a curious amount of pride. "It takes a great deal of grace expenditure to assist humans, you know."

"Not really, but I'll take your word for it," Dean says. "Um, alright, then I'll see you later, I guess."

"You will," Castiel promises and when Dean blinks, he is gone.

"Fucking angels," Dean mutters to himself and he turns towards the kitchen.

He really needs a beer.

**********************

Castiel sleeps well that night. He's never realized how exhausting Earthly travel can be. There's barely time for Castiel to receive his brothers' congratulations on finally getting a charge before he dives headlong into a deeply dreamless sleep.

He wakes the next morning with a renewed sense of purpose. Dean Winchester is a difficult charge, but Castiel thinks he better understands what Castiel is trying to do. No matter Dean's opinion of angels in general, Castiel thinks he managed to convince Dean that he genuinely wants to help.

And now the time has come to do so.

Castiel bathes quickly and instead of finding one of the confining angelic uniforms, he opts for another simple dark suit. His wings would stand out even more against the harsh absolute white of the Michael garrison uniform. Besides, he likes the trench coat.

After a quick breakfast that Castiel is mostly too nervous to eat, he races to the launching pad. This time, when he's shot towards the Earth, it only takes Castiel a matter of moments to find the right town and the right house. The sun is just rising over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the tall brick building where Dean lives. Castiel transports himself into the small apartment. It's quiet inside and at first he doesn't see Dean. Then a soft snuffling noise draws his attention.

Dean is still asleep.

He's curled into a ball in the middle of the huge bed and his arms are wrapped firmly around an overly large pillow. Castiel frowns. He looks lonely, too small in that bed. It's too much space for one person. Dean's nothing, but too much space. Castiel needs to find a way to fill it.

With some caution, because Castiel can't remember reading any rules about approaching sleeping humans, he steps up the short stairs to Dean's bed. When he can walk no further because his knees are pressed against the side of the bed, Castiel leans down and quietly calls Dean's name.

"Dean?"

No answer. Castiel thinks Dean looks different in sleep. The expression he wears is more honest. Castiel doesn't like that Dean tries so hard in his waking state to hide everything he's feeling. But it's also troubling that Dean's natural expression is dark with worry. Castiel is more convinced than ever that Dean needs him. Dean has no one to share the burden of his concerns so that he can sleep peacefully.

"Dean?" he tries again, a bit louder.

This time, Dean shifts slightly and grips his pillow more tightly, but doesn't awaken. If this were any other human, Castiel would skim his dreams for research purposes, but he'd promised Dean he wouldn't intrude if he could help it. Castiel refuses to break a promise to Dean.

"Dean!"

"Shut up, Cas," Dean mumbles sleepily.

Castiel jerks back in surprise. It can't be possible, yet Castiel is almost certain 'Cas' is a nickname. But nicknames are used by humans to show affection or familiarity. Castiel didn't think they had either.

He leans far enough over Dean that he is looking straight down into his face. It's a precarious position. Castiel carefully lifts one wing and presses it down on the other side of Dean's body so that he won't tip over. Surely, this close Dean can't ignore him. Just as Castiel is about to call his name, Dean suddenly releases the pillow and slides one arm over his head. Castiel watches in fascination as Dean's body twists in one long languid movement that starts at his neck and rolls down to his feet.

He is still staring, his wing crossing over Dean's body when Dean's eyes flutter open. Their gazes lock and for a long moment, they say nothing at all. Castiel finds it hard to think and he doesn't know why. There is something warm and intimate about seeing Dean like this, his head relaxed into his pillow and his body carelessly stretched across his bed.

"So I take it they don't teach classes on personal space up there," Dean says, his voice sleep roughened and amused.

Castiel instantly straightens. Hot embarrassment churns in his stomach, but he takes care not to let it show on his face. Behind him, his wings fidget and squirm. Even with some concentration, it takes too long for Castiel to convince them to stop moving. Any pride he felt at his accomplishment is wiped away when Dean starts chuckling.

"What?" Castiel asks, annoyed.

Dean swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands.

"It's just you," he says. "Acting like you don't care, but your wings are embarrassed."

"They are not," Castiel denies, but his wings slump a little and it just makes Dean laugh again. He slides past Castiel and hops down the stairs into the living room.

"Hey, it's actually something of a relief to know you feel things," Dean comments as he peers out the front window. "Dude, what time is it?"

"6:45 AM," Castiel answers.

"What the hell, man?" Dean whirls around and points a finger at him. "Okay, rule number one. No match making before 9 AM."

"Oh." Another jolt of shame. He never meant to be an inconvenience. "I'm sorry."

Dean just nods and heads down the second set of stairs.

"Come on. I need coffee."

"Is there a rule number two?" Castiel asks as he follows Dean.

"Huh? Oh, um...I'll let you know," Dean says. His kitchen is very small, just large enough for the essential appliances and a tiny two-person table. Dean begins fiddling with a coffee maker, replacing the old grounds with new coffee and pouring water into the pot. Castiel watches the process in silence.

"Heaven must be pretty boring," Dean says a moment later when he's done setting up the coffee pot.

"What do you mean?" Castiel's never thought of Heaven as either boring or interesting. It simply is. It's his home.

"I know making coffee isn't _that_ fascinating," Dean points out. "Or is it just because you've never been down here before?"

Castiel gives the question careful thought. It's true that being on Earth is a new and exciting experience. But he didn't feel drawn to watching the humans he saw in the street the day before. Nor did he find it difficult to leave Sam Winchester's side. There is something different about Dean. Castiel likes watching Dean. He likes trying to discern which emotions that Dean shows are real and which are part of his unnecessary act. He likes the way Dean's muscles move under his white sleeping shirt when he reaches up into a cabinet for a coffee cup. He likes how Dean's lips are even now turning up at the corners.

"Seriously, you're staring again," Dean says. He pulls down a second cup. "You want some?"

"No, thank you," Castiel says. Michael always warned them never to drink the water on Earth. "I apologize if I'm making you uncomfortable. I can't seem to help myself."

"The sad thing is I'm starting to get used to it.” Dean leans back against the counter, both hands supporting himself on the light tan surface.

"Although now that I think about it, when we go into my work today, Rule Number Two is don't stare at anyone, but me." For some reason, this statement makes Dean flush red and stammer a clarification. "I mean, people will ask questions. I don't want to be on weirdo patrol all day, okay?"

Castiel nods. "What kind of job do you have?"

"I'm a cop," Dean says absently as he pours the newly made coffee into his cup. "Homicide."

"Homicide?" Castiel asks, alarmed.

Dean looks at him over his cup. "Homicide detective, Cas," he says, shaking his head in amusement. "I investigate murders."

"That sounds very dangerous," Castiel says. His wings quiver in distress and Castiel does nothing to hide it. Dean would see it anyway.

"Yeah, I guess, but I'm more worried about how often I have to work on Saturday nights," he jokes, but Castiel doesn't laugh. His expression draws the smile off Dean's face and he sighs, setting the cup aside.

"Someone's gotta do it, Cas."

Every new thing Castiel learns about Dean confuses him further. He's so full of love and light, yet he chooses to spend his day in a gruesome profession, walking amongst humanity's most evil element. No wonder his sleep was troubled. His job would make any human's heart weary. Castiel mentally narrows his search parameters. Dean will need someone who can deal with both unusual work hours and the worry over Dean's safety. As well as someone who can effectively offer comfort when Dean's job overwhelms him.

"I see," Castiel says quietly. His thoughts tumble around in his head. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes it won't be easy to find Dean a good mate. He has so many special needs. Castiel must find a person who is willing to cater to them all.

"Anyway, it's not that bad. It's more searching around for clues than pointing guns at bad guys," Dean says lightly. He takes one last swallow of his coffee, then sets the cup in the empty sink. "I'm going to go take a shower. Since we're up, I might as well go in. I got a shitton of paperwork."

He's almost to the stairs before he turns and shakes a finger at Castiel.

"Also, let's just keep this whole love-match crap between us, okay? I'd literally never live it down," he says.

Searching for love is no reason to be ashamed as far as Castiel is concerned, but he agrees nonetheless. Whatever it takes to keep Dean happy, Castiel thinks as he pulls out his notepad and begins reviewing his notes.

After all, that's his job.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel faces the first true test of his powers almost as soon as they arrive at Dean's workplace.

The arriving itself is not something Castiel enjoys. The police station is a one story brick building located in a busy section of downtown Lawrence and the streets are thick with every kind of transport vehicle imaginable, including the bulky black car Dean drives. It's much larger than many of the cars around it. Which means there's room for Castiel's wings, but also means Castiel becomes worried they'll crush one of the smaller cars. Castiel doesn't like the way those cars drive close behind them or slide by with barely an inch of space to separate them. By the time they reach the police station, his wings are curled protectively around his body.

"You okay?" Dean asks when he sees Castiel's rigid stance.

"I think I should transport us next time," Castiel says tightly.

"You gotta be kidding me," he says with exaggerated disbelief. "Driving is one of the greatest joys of being human. I'd never leave my girl behind."

Then he pets the car as if it were a living organism. Castiel considers asking why the car is female, then decides he doesn't care. He just wants to be away from it. Dean snorts at the way Castiel glares at the car as he walks a wide circle around it to Dean's side.

"Come on, you big baby," he says, but he sounds fond. He gives Castiel's folded wings a speculative glance and Castiel senses in him an odd shot of nervous energy right before he does something that shocks Castiel's mind into blankness.

One hand falls gently at the base of his left wing near where it attaches to his back. His clothes stop Dean's fingers from stroking over the incredibly sensitive skin of the joint itself, but Castiel shivers nonetheless. Imagining the sensation, picturing those gentle fingers caressing the naked flesh of the wing joint is enough to make Castiel's steps falter.

"You should calm these things down," Dean says softly and then he drags his palm down the wing in one single stroke.

An astonishing and peculiar kind of heat he's never felt before blossoms through Castiel's body. He stops without thinking, his breath caught in his chest and it makes Dean inadvertently press his hand into Castiel's wing even harder. The heat turns overwhelming and Castiel is forced to tear himself away from Dean. There's a flash of disappointed hurt in Dean's eyes, but it's gone almost instantly.

"Sorry about that," Dean says, his voice thick. Castiel just shakes his head because he doesn't quite trust himself to speak. It doesn't make sense. Of course, every angel likes to have their wings petted. His brothers don't much like his wings, but they love him enough to overcome their disgust at touching them. When Castiel was very young, newly made, Anna used to stroke his wings while he fell asleep. Sometimes when Castiel feels useless and unworthy, Michael pats his wings to boost his confidence. He even likes it when Uriel flicks his feathers in passing just to annoy him. His brothers' touches make him feel safe and loved and happy.

They never made him ache inside.

"Right." Dean runs his fingers through his hair. "We should go."

The first person they see when they walk into the police station is a female with long brown hair. She gives Dean a leering grin that Dean returns with a wink. Castiel frowns. He senses in Dean no particular interest towards this woman beyond a faint sexual attraction, but he appears to be engaging in flirtatious behavior towards her. Perhaps it's worth seeking their future, just in case.

The process of future-seeking takes an experienced angel mere seconds to complete. Castiel passed his future-seeking courses with a perfect grade, but only practiced on angels posing as humans. This is the very first time Castiel will use his powers in a significant way on a real living human.

It makes him so nervous that his left wing gives one wild flap.

"Problems?" Dean asks in an undertone.

"No," Castiel whispers back.

He shuts himself off to outside influences, including the way Dean moves closer to him as the woman approaches. Castiel calculates he has just above three seconds before the woman begins talking. It is more than enough time. The future sense gathers around him, crackling through his grace like lightning and Castiel grabs it, twisting it around both Dean's soul and the woman's. They bind together for a split second and Castiel peers into it, stretching time long enough so he can read their chances together.

What he sees is a brief relationship based almost entirely on sex. A few months worth of constant and even experimental sex and then it ends. It is an amicable break because both know they don't want to spend their lives together, but it is a break nonetheless. The woman is a good friend, but nowhere near Dean's soul-mate.

Castiel withdraws from the future sense with a jolt of excited disbelief. His very first time reading the future and it went perfectly! Maybe his Father was right to give him this job after all. Dean tilts his head and when Castiel glances at him, he sees that Dean's gaze is fixed firmly on the big smile curling Castiel's lips.

"Hmm, whose your friend, hot-pants?" The woman asks as she saunters up. Her eyes travel down Castiel's body and then back up. It makes his left wing flap again.

"This is Cas," Dean says. His hand falls on Castiel's back, but far enough down that he's not touching Castiel's wings for which Castiel is very grateful. "He's...Well, he's an angel."

"Yes, I can see that," she says, smirking at his wings. "I'm Pamela."

She holds out her hand and Castiel remembers more quickly this time to take it. Instead of shaking it, however, she only holds it and narrows her light green eyes at him. It's strange, but it reminds Castiel of the way Michael sometimes looks at him when Castiel isn't in the mood to talk about his problems. Like she can see right through his skin right down to his very grace.

"Interesting," she murmurs, but it's Dean that receives her knowing smile.

"Pam's a psychic," Dean explains, seemingly oblivious to her secretive look. "She helps us with cases sometimes."

"Oh," Castiel says, thoroughly fascinated. He knows of humans with power, of course, but he didn't expect to meet one on his first outing. This would be a good time to ask about her powers, but then Castiel realizes she's still holding his hand. The tip of one finger brushes along the inside of his palm and it yanks all the words out of his mind.

"Alright, alright, quit molesting the angel," Dean says and even though he sounds teasing, Castiel thinks he really means it. Pam grins and winks at Dean, but she lets go of Castiel's hand without complaint.

"Don't worry, grumpy. I'm not trying to damage the goods," she promises. Castiel isn't sure what she means. Touching his palms won't ruin him. It just felt odd and uncomfortably intimate. Angels may enjoy wing strokes, but they rarely touch each other's skin.

Dean gives her a look Castiel doesn't understand, but it makes Pamela chuckle and nod as if Dean had spoken aloud. Castiel knows he could discover the message if he looks harder, further below the surface emotions he can't help gleaning from Dean. But once again, he's held by the promise he made. The troublesome promise that's keeping Castiel out of the loop. Humans are far too secretive.

"I don't suppose there's any way you don't already know what he's here for," Dean says and now he sounds grouchy. It just makes Pamela laugh again.

"Nope. Sorry. But your secret is safe with me. If not for your sake, than for Black Beauty over here," she says, jerking a nod towards Castiel. He startles. Not only is that the second nickname's he's received in one day, but it's the first time in his entire existence that anyone's ever used the word 'beauty' to refer to his wings. It brings a warmth to his face that he suspects is turning his cheeks red.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Well, whoever it's for, thanks." He pushes on Castiel's back where his hand still lingers. "C'mon, Cas."

They turn to leave, but before they can, Pamela catches Castiel's arm.

"Just wanted to say something," she says and for the first time in their brief acquaintance, Pamela is utterly serious. "Only fools refuse free gifts."

"I don't understand," Castiel says slowly when she doesn't clarify.

"Me either," Pamela admits with a shrug. "But you should remember that."

"Um, okay," Dean cuts in, now tugging on Castiel's coat. "Seriously, come on before she starts doing your star chart or something."

"Don't tempt me," she calls after them, her tone much lighter than before.

"Star chart?" Castiel asks. Dean leads them down a hallway with pale green floors and squares of white light built into the ceilings. It's empty, so for the moment, they are free from further introductions.

"You know, astrology," Dean says. At Castiel's blank look, he huffs a sigh. "It's that stupid crap about signs or whatever. Pam made me do one last year," he says in the same aggrieved tone one might use to speak of a serious illness or world hunger. "I'm an Aquarius. Apparently that means I'm unpredictable or something," he says, shaking his head before glancing at Castiel. "Do they even have that in Heaven? I mean, you got a birthday right?"

"Oh, yes," Castiel confirms. "I was born on Thursday."

Dean raises his eyebrow. "Any particular Thursday?"

"I don't know," Castiel says. The look Dean gives him, like he's a little crazy, makes Castiel wish he knew. He doesn't like disappointing Dean. "We don't celebrate the dates of our birth," Castiel explains. "The only reason I know my particular _day_ of birth is because it decided which garrison I was assigned to. All the angels in my garrison were born on Wednesday, Thursday or Friday."

"Oh," Dean says. His emotions shift uncomfortably across his aura. "I don't guess I know much about how that all works up there."

"There are three garrisons," Castiel explains in the same tone Michael uses to teach class. "The Archangel Michael leads my garrison. He is the most powerful of the three Archangels, which is why our garrison is the largest," Castiel says with tremendous pride. He may not be able to contribute much to his garrison, but Castiel still feels honored to be counted as one of its members. "The other two garrisons are led by the Archangels Gabriel and Raphael. Angels born on Monday and Tuesday are in Gabriel's garrison and those born on Saturday and Sunday are in Raphael's."

Dean pauses in the hallway just outside of another door and gives him a very odd look. It's contemplative, almost curious, but also disbelieving; as if Dean is having trouble accepting that he's interested in what Castiel is telling him. Castiel hopes he asks more questions. He would very much like to use knowledge to dispel the anger Dean carries towards angels.

"I was born on Wednesday," Dean comments. "So if I were an angel..." He trails off and his eyes flick away in embarrassment.

"You would be in my garrison," Castiel says, pleased that the thought occurred to Dean. "And your brother prayed to us on a Thursday, which is why his prayer was sent to our garrison and why an Angel of Thursday was sent to answer it. It’s how our Father keeps all the requests organized and divided fairly."

"So...anyone praying on those days, they'd get someone from your garrison?" Dean asks, his gaze suddenly intense. Castiel nods.

"Yes. We don't ever see the prayers sent to Gabriel or Raphael, although Michael says they exchange stories sometimes when they visit," Castiel says, recalling the lengthy stories Michael sometimes tells Castiel while they separate prayers in the mornings, the glasses slipping down the end of Michael's nose as he laughs at his closest brothers' antics. "I've only met them once myself."

"Aren't you all related or something?" Dean asks absently. His eyes are flicking over the walls and Castiel gets the impression Dean is distracted by something.

"We are all brothers under our Father's protection, yes," Castiel confirms. His disobedient left wing twitches again against the desire to flutter under Dean's chin, to tip his face up so that Castiel once again has his attention. "Dean?"

Dean shakes himself. "Sorry about that, Cas. Mind's wandering. C'mon, we got more people to meet."

In fact, they meet a great deal many more people. Dean's one of a full team of homicide detectives that are led by an older human male named Bobby Singer, who has a gruff demeanor. He gives Castiel's wings one look and just snorts, telling Dean to make sure Castiel doesn't break anything with them before disappearing into his office.

There's a young female cop named Jo who Dean calls a rookie. When Dean refuses to tell her why Castiel is trailing after him, she plants her fists on her hips and promises she'll 'get to the bottom of this' sooner or later. Castiel believes her.

Another member of their team is an intense man named Gordon who has frightening dark eyes Castiel doesn't like. He doesn't say anything to Castiel, only glares at him before stalking off to the other side of the room to read from a computer screen. Dean tells Castiel under his breath that Gordon's obsessed with a particular case right now and is normally pleasant enough.

There's grim-faced older cop named Rufus, a young pretty sketch artist called Sarah and a scruffy distracted man named Chuck who turns out to be a beat reporter. The most important member of the team, given the level of trust and affection Castiel senses in Dean during this particular introduction, is a man named Victor. He is neatly dressed in a three-piece suit and though his upright and direct manner is very different from Dean's, Dean tells Castiel that Victor is his partner. At first, Castiel misunderstands his meaning and finds himself thoroughly annoyed by this turn of events because if Dean already has a partner, then he'd been lying to Castiel. But Dean drags Castiel to one side and clarifies that Victor is his _work_ partner, which means that they are paired up for their investigations. The relief Castiel feels at this knowledge pours over him like cool refreshing water.

By the time Castiel meets everyone, he is exhausted. It's so many humans at once. So many emotions overwhelming his grace, a confusion of futures to seek. It seems like Dean is attracted to everyone they come across, even the humans too old to be viable life partners. Every time Dean introduces him to a new person, Castiel meets his eyes and senses a spark of sexual attraction. Which means he has to future-seek seven times in less than fifteen minutes.

None of them are right. The closest Dean comes to bliss in any of his possible futures is with Jo. She is the only one that Dean actually marries, but even though much of their marriage is content, Castiel can't sense true happiness in either of them. There is something missing. They eventually divorce and strangely become closer friends after their failed marriage than they were during it.

Some of the matches are downright disastrous. Castiel winces at the tempestuous future he sees between Dean and Gordon and resolves to steer clear of Gordon at all costs. And he doesn't much care for the string of drunken one night stands he shares with Chuck.

Others don't ever go anywhere. Like in Dean's future with Bobby Singer where they never actually have a romantic relationship, just end up two cranky bachelors who live together out of convenience when Bobby decides he's gotten too old to take proper care of his large home. Or his future with Victor, who declines Dean's invitation to dinner since he's not interested in dating men. Castiel is pleased to see the rejection doesn't affect their close partnership. Dean needs to work with someone he can trust completely, even if awkward feelings arise between them.

All in all, Dean's true partner is decidedly _not_ someone at work. It's probably a good thing. The updated lesson plans for match-making mention that 'office romances' are not a good idea.

"So how'd we do?" Dean asks once they make it to his own small office. There is a wooden desk at its center that boasts a laptop computer and a green lamp, but the overwhelming feature is the heaps of precariously stacked files scattered across its surface. Castiel instantly worries his fussy wings will make one wrong move and bury them in paperwork.

"None of your work colleagues are appropriate," Castiel says as he gathers his wings into his arms to hold them steady, just in case.

"I'm kinda relieved," Dean says, flopping into his desk chair. "I'd hate to think my perfect partner had been right under my nose the whole time."

He glances up and frowns at Castiel's armful of feathers.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm trying to prevent a mess," Castiel informs him.

"Good thinking. Planning ahead," Dean says as he starts shuffling through the papers. "On the other hand, I don't care about mess. Clearly," he adds as one stack slips off the edge of his desk. Castiel catches some of them and together they begin picking up the rest.

"Anyway, you shouldn't sheath those bad boys on my account," Dean says casually. "If they don't move, I can't tell what you're thinking."

"Is that important to you?" Castiel asks in surprise. This concept isn't taught in Heaven. Humans require protection and service. They don't really care what angels think, nor should they.

"Well, if you're going to be following me around, yeah," Dean says as if this is obvious.

"Oh," Castiel says and out of all the strange and exhilarating things that have happened today, this is his favorite. He stands up and sets his gathered pile of papers on the edge of Dean's desk. "Then I won't 'sheath' them."

"Great," Dean says distractedly. He is still kneeling on the floor because a file has fallen under his desk and he is stretching to reach it. Just as he grabs it, Castiel hears a light knock at the door and he glances over his shoulder. Dean hears the knock too and leans over, peering past Castiel's hip.

It's Victor. He stops still, hand raised against the doorframe and he lifts an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry. Am I...interrupting?" He puts a curious twist on the word 'interrupting' that makes Castiel reach out with his grace. He gets nothing more than a general sense of surprise and a desire to lightly mock Dean. Mock him about what, Castiel doesn't understand.

Dean obviously does because he pops up from the ground, fingers raking nervously through his hair.

"No," he says, coughing into his hand. "What's up?"

"I don't know what's going on here exactly," Victor says, waving a hand to indicate both Dean and Castiel. "So I'm sorry if this is bad timing, but you'll want to hear this. Rufus heard something last night. Just a rumor, but..."

"But what?" Dean prompts urgently.

"I think it might be a lead on Y.E.D."

There is an immediate change in Dean. From relatively relaxed to intensely focused, his mood shifts lightning quick and it makes Castiel nervous.

"Y.E. D.?" he asks.

"I'll explain later," Dean says, breathless, his attention glued to Victor. "I gotta work now, okay?" He flicks a glance in Castiel's direction. "Come find me later. Probably tomorrow. We always work late on these leads."

"You…want me to leave?" Castiel asks in confusion and oddly, the slightest bit of hurt. It draws Dean's focus away from Victor, who mutters something about being in his office. Dean curls a hand over Castiel's shoulder and squeezes.

"If this was any other case...but I gotta concentrate on this. You're...well, you're kinda distracting," Dean says. Before Castiel can become alarmed, Dean continues. "It's the wings," he says with a smile that fades almost as soon as it appears. "It's not like you can do much today anyway if I'm not supposed to hook up with any of them," he adds, nodding towards the larger room.

He has a point, but Castiel can't help feeling ill at ease. The mention of this case and the Y.E.D., whatever that may be, has Dean feeling nearly frantic with anticipation. It can't possibly be safe to investigate dangerous criminals with that kind of reckless energy coursing through your veins.

"Are you sure?" Castiel asks, his wings once more aching to reach out to Dean, to protect him from something Castiel doesn't truly understand.

"Yeah," Dean says, already heading towards the door. "Don't worry. These damn rumors rarely come to anything."

"Alright," Castiel says, but Dean is already gone. He sighs and looks down at the file still abandoned on the floor.

Pamela was right. Dean is unpredictable.

**********************

Castiel isn't in Dean's apartment when he wakes up the next morning. It's a little scary how annoyed his absence makes Dean.

It's probably because the previous night was such a colossal waste of time and it'd be nice to complain to someone who'd really listen. Not that Sam wouldn't listen to Dean, of course, but there's something different about the way Castiel listens. His focus is absolute, like Dean is the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. Hell, Dean might just be, if Castiel had never been to Earth. Which Dean doesn't understand because it's not like the guy's doing a bad job so far. Sure, they haven't found anyone yet, but honestly, Dean's kinda relieved. When he'd signed up for this Angel Cupid ordeal, he hadn't thought about how humiliating it really is to have a featherhead pick out a spouse for you. Praying for love is something dowdy old spinsters or divorced mothers or teenage girls do. Dean never thought he'd be one of _those_ people. He'll be signing his Lifetime movie deal any day now.

Then again, if the featherhead in question fails, then that means Dean is even more pathetic than he suspected.

Either way, it's just better if Castiel hangs around to keep looking.

Dean is fresh from the shower and watching the news in his underwear when Castiel makes an appearance. He explodes into existence with a gust of wind, his hair pointing in all directions and his wings tangled together at the bottom. He's wearing a similar outfit to the last two times, but the trench coat is tugged half off and his tie is twisted round and loose at the collar.

He looks like someone dragged him into a nearby closet and tried to have their way with him.

The thought makes Dean uncomfortably aware that he's mostly undressed.

"Um," he says and he stands from the sofa. He wants to say he's going to go change, but those aren't the words that come out of his mouth. "What happened to you?"

Castiel is staring. Of course he's staring, but instead of being contemplative, he looks surprised. And his eyes aren't staying on Dean's face. Oh no, they are roaming freely over Dean's body, from the tip of his head all the way down to his bare feet and back again, pausing to linger at Dean's hips. It's like he's never seen a man's body before and Dean realizes with a start that he probably hasn't. The hairs on Dean's arms stand on end and when a powerful wave of heat follows, Dean is forced to mentally scold himself and think unsexy thoughts about grandmas and cockroaches and Sam. Getting hot and bothered over angels is just plain wrong.

"The launch pad was malfunctioning," Castiel says and he sounds breathless. "I was flying blind and I think I may have run into a storm, but I was going so fast, I can't be sure."

"You actually have a launch pad?" Dean asks, but that's not really the first thought on his mind. He walks forward, forgetting about the near-nudity and the staring. "Are you alright?" he asks worriedly and he reaches out to straighten Castiel's tie.

Castiel looks down at his hands, his eyes confused. "Why are you doing that?"

"You look..." The truth is, Dean has no idea why he's doing it. Just that Cas looks like he could use it and maybe Dean doesn't like the thought of Cas being hurtled through the air with no idea of where he's going or how to stop.

"You look messy," he says, refusing to meet Castiel's eyes as he pulls the coat back up around his shoulders.

'You were worried about me," Castiel says in wonder. Dean scowls at him.

"You don't have to sound so amazed," he snaps. "You really think humans are heartless, don't you?" he says, remembering how shocked Cas had been that Dean cared what he thought.

"Of course not," Castiel says and now he sounds a little annoyed. "But we are servants. Humans pray for help, not to become friends with angels."

"I didn't pray for you," Dean growls, angry at himself because Cas is right. Dean never cared what angels thought before. Ever since he was a child, he's been pissed at the only angel he ever met because she didn't do exactly what Dean wanted her to do.

"Even so," Castiel says stiffly, his expression closed down. He steps away from Dean and it's stupid, but all Dean can think is that he managed to upset Cas before Dean had the chance to comb out his wings.

"Look, don't do that," Dean says, shifting in discomfort. Relationship discussions are not his forte. Another reason there's a full-fledged and kinda pouty angel standing in his living room. "I'm just hacked off about last night."

"What happened?" Castiel asks. His irritation is instantly gone in favor of deep concern. The instant change startles Dean. Most people take a few minutes to get over being insulted.

Not that Castiel is people.

"The same thing that always happens," Dean says, reaching down finally to snatch his shirt off the sofa. "The rumor was a hoax, I spent twelve hours chasing after smoke and I ended up back at square one." He shrugs into the shirt, a faded old KU police tee. Castiel's eyes follow his every movement. The focus thing is nice, but it's also a bit unnerving. Dean turns around before he steps into the pants so he doesn't have to see Castiel examining him.

"You did not catch the Y.E.D.?" His voice is a lot closer than Dean expects, rasping low in his ear and sending a shiver down his spine.

Sure enough, when Dean glances over his shoulder, Castiel is right behind him, his head cocked at a slight angle and his eyes seeming bigger and bluer than ever.

"Whoa, there, cowboy," Dean says, reeling back a little. Cas is so close that Dean can tell his body is warm, like crazy hot and because Dean's brain is no longer under his control, he thinks to himself that it'll be nice on cold mornings in winter.

It's possible he's losing it.

"Seriously, personal space."

Castiel's expression turns troubled. Not quite hurt, but something close to it. Like a painful confusion over some kind of negative feeling Cas doesn't quite understand. He backs up a step, leaving Dean chilled and displeased. Castiel makes Dean feel like a frigging yo-yo.

"Forgive me," Cas says. "It's difficult to remember all the rules that govern your society."

Dean almost tells Cas to forget it. That he doesn't mind as much as he lets on, but then he imagines Castiel sliding in close to stand beside a stranger in a bar or a store and Dean changes his mind. Instead, he scratches the back of his neck and looks away from the faint disappointment in Castiel's eyes.

"It's okay," Dean says. He's certain an awkward silence will follow, but he realizes a second later, he shouldn't forget that Castiel isn't human. Awkwardness doesn't seem to matter to him very much.

"I'm still concerned about your previous evening," Castiel says in a matter-of-fact way. His voice is flat and his expression apparently back to normal. But there is something different about him. Something Dean can't pinpoint for a split second until his eyes inevitably wander over Castiel's wings. Dean can't seem to keep his gaze from flicking over the damned things every five seconds. They're just so big and they look so soft and they're always moving. Which is what clues Dean into the difference.

The wings are stock still and held stiffly against Castiel's back.

Dean almost smiles. This is Castiel's version of masking his feelings.

"Don't worry about last night," Dean says. Maybe he can't tell Castiel it's okay to stand close to him, but Dean can't help offering a slight peace offering. As he walks past Castiel to retrieve his shoes, he brushes his shoulder along Castiel's, bumping his wings in the process. A ripple of some kind of emotion passes through Castiel and when Dean turns back to the sofa, shoes in hand, Cas is more relaxed. There's a smile in his eyes and his left wing is fluttering gently as if in a soft breeze.

"Let's go have breakfast instead," Dean says, stupidly pleased. "I'm off today, so we can do the whole...you know, hit up my regular joints."

"Oh yes," Castiel says as if he'd forgotten he has a job to do.

Dean had almost forgotten about that himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel doesn't eat breakfast with Dean. Even when faced with the perfect fluffy buttermilk pancakes from Braedon's. Dean spends most of the breakfast taunting Castiel with the pancakes and the accompanying bacon. He can tell Castiel is intrigued by the scent of the food, but he stubbornly refuses to eat it, so Dean secretly decides to get Castiel to eat something before his time is up.

There are only a few other patrons in the diner with them. Castiel does a quick future-seeking with all of them, even though Dean's never met them before. It’s two girls who look related and another lone guy. The guy is pretty hot, but not really Dean's type and the girls are constantly shooting the other guy furtive glances. Still, Cas reads them anyway and informs Dean that they aren't appropriate for him. Dean doesn't ask for details.

Dean is only really curious when the diner's owner, Lisa, comes round to say hey. They'd dated a few times in college and there were even a confusing and strangely exhilarating couple of days when Dean thought her son, Ben, might be his own. But he isn't and even though Dean sees them both all the time, he's never really wanted to try it again with Lisa. Still, she's one of the few people in Dean's past he's actually dated, so when she leans over the counter, eyes alight with curiosity, Dean throws Castiel a sidelong glance. Cas gives his head a short shake and waits until Lisa's satisfied that Dean isn't in trouble and leaves.

"You share a romantic history with Lisa Braedon," Castiel says after she's gone.

"We used to go out sometimes in college," Dean says with a shrug. "Not really the long-lasting type relationship. I take it that's what you saw in your crystal ball."

"I don't have a crystal ball."

The look Castiel is giving him is priceless. Both eyebrows are drawn together and his mouth is a slight frown. It's like Dean is the freak, the alien among angels instead of the other way around. Dean snorts into his coffee.

"Don't ever change, Cas," he says, grinning.

"I hadn't intended to," Castiel assures him and the look just gets worse. "As for Lisa Braedon, a relationship with you would end after a year or so. She is strongly destined for another and you always feel as if you are missing something. It's the same in every vision I've had so far."

He sounds frustrated and even though Dean knows it's not technically his fault, he still feels guilty. Dean's never been good at feeling what he's supposed to feel. All those people he's been intimate with and Dean was never able to feel much of anything for them. Until Castiel showed up with the offer to find him a mate, Dean had assumed he was only able to feel deep emotions for family members. Maybe he was right after all.

"I'm sorry," Dean says because he's messing up Castiel's first job. Cas' eyes snap from his plate to his face and his expression changes from 'You weird human' to 'You absolute idiot.' Dean prefers the former.

"It's not your fault," Castiel says in a huff. "I still have many more humans to future-seek. You do have a soul-mate or I wouldn't have been sent to seek that person for you."

Even though Dean's never been strong on the whole faith concept, he can't argue in the face of Castiel's absolute conviction, so he just returns to his pancakes and tries to relax. It's just hard when Castiel grows more and more agitated as the day continues. After breakfast, they swing by the grocery to stock up on food and beer for the week. Saturdays are always crazy there and this one is no different. They're forced to wade past waves of old ladies, mothers with their children crammed into the front of their carts and blurry-eyed college kids reeking of alcohol. Every person they pass stares openly at Castiel. Cas is too busy future-seeking to notice, but it bothers Dean. Sure, Castiel is an odd duck and Dean stared at him when they first met, but that doesn't mean these random people have the right to look at him. After the fifth person rubber necks passed, Dean starts glowering at everyone around them. It doesn't stop the looks, but it makes Dean feel better.

It's not until Dean's trying to find a carton of unbroken eggs that he realizes Castiel is wilting.

"Dude, are you alright?"

"There are many humans here," Castiel says wearily, his wings drawing close to his body. Dean thinks it might be a sign of fatigue, different from when he masks his feelings because the wings are jittery. It reminds Dean of staying up late on cases, downing coffee and shaking himself continually to stay awake.

"Yeah," Dean says, setting an acceptable batch of eggs in the cart. Castiel's eyes fall on a young girl, barely over eighteen and his eyes glaze over like they do when he's future-seeking. Dean grabs his arm to shake him out of it. "What are you doing?"

"Future-seeking," Castiel says, leaning into Dean's touch.

"Yeah, I got that. Why are you doing it with jail-bait?" At Castiel's bemused expression, Dean sighs and moves closer, speaking quietly. "That girl's not old enough for me."

"But you are attracted to her," Castiel says. And he's not wrong. The girl's got a nice round ass and a great set of legs. But she's also wearing a t-shirt with some character on it from a recent teeny-bopper film Dean barely recognizes and he can already tell they'd have nothing in common.

"Just because you're attracted to someone doesn't mean you should date them, Cas," Dean explains. He pinches Castiel's coat sleeve and drags him forward, away from the teenager. "What did you see in our future?"

"She was very pleased to date you," Castiel says. "But she seemed to enjoy mainly speaking to her friends about it. You remind her of a television actor. The relationship ends after only a few meetings. I believe you grow bored of her."

"See, that's what I'm talking about," Dean says, steering the cart down the baking aisle. He expects Castiel to make a comment about his destination, the kind of rude remark Sam would make about Dean being Suzy Homemaker. But Castiel is watching Dean intently, eager for him to continue and Dean relaxes.

"You gotta save your energy and only future-seek with people I could actually talk to," Dean says as he grabs the flour he intends to use for biscuits and gravy the following morning. "People more around my age. Like I'd say skip anyone younger than twenty-five or older than forty."

"I should skip all those other people?" Castiel sounds terribly confused. They probably taught him in angel school that humans are all filthy monkeys that want to fuck every person they come across. Dean rubs his temples.

"Yes, Cas. Geez, how many of these friggin' people do you think I'm attracted to anyway?"

It annoys him that Castiel apparently thinks he's a whore or can't control himself or whatever's going on in that stupid angelic head of his. Liking sex and being indiscriminate in your tastes are two different things in Dean's book. He may have been less picky in high school and college, but it's been years since Dean just fucked whoever was convenient.

"I've yet to come across a person you don't feel an attraction for," Castiel says cautiously.

Dean stops the cart and stares at him. "Not one? Dude, I think your Attract-o-meter is broken."

"My what?"

"C'mere," Dean says, tugging Castiel out of the aisle into the main thoroughfare of the store. He points to a man in his late twenties with a greasy comb-over and a shiftless look about him. "Am I attracted to that guy?"

Castiel peers at the man, head cocked to one side and then back to Dean. Their eyes meet and Castiel frowns.

"It would seem so," he says.

"No," Dean protests, making a face. "Dude, no. I'd rather sell my dick on eBay."

Dean's not entirely sure Castiel knows what that means, but he likes the faint blush that creeps over Castiel's cheeks when he hears the word ‘dick’.

Which is when it hits Dean what's probably going on.

"Okay, so...wait a second. When you sense my attraction to someone, can you tell which specific person it is?" Dean asks, suddenly nervous. He's never heard of the Angel Council punishing a human for a crime against one of their own, but then he's never heard of a human feeling anything remotely sexual towards an angel. Not because they aren't attractive creatures, but because they are just so alien. With most angels, you see nothing, but cold indifference in their expressions and a frightening crackle of energy and power in their demeanor.

But not with Cas. He's not exactly effusive in expression, but his posture tells Dean all kinds of things, speaks a great deal of emotions. There's a spark of energy about him, enough to teach respect, but not inspire fear. From the first moment they met, Dean felt comfortable in Castiel's presence, even in his bedroom or while he was half-naked. Dean can't imagine trying to pet the sharp efficient angles of a normal angel's bright white wings, yet he can't seem to keep his fingers out of Castiel's disheveled ebony feathers. He's not like other angels or other humans. Castiel is a category all his own and Dean likes him.

He just hopes Castiel can't tell.

"Not exactly. The feeling is somewhat vague." Realization blooms across Castiel's features, turning his eyes a darker blue that Dean can’t help, but enjoy. "I've messed up, haven't I?"

"No!" Dean channels his relief into his search for a jar of honey, keeping his eyes away from Castiel's face. "I mean, if you can't tell the difference and you just sense some random attraction, then it's not your fault."

"Match-making is so difficult," Castiel says, plucking at one feather halfway down his wing. It sounds like a confession. "I want to do a good job for you."

"It's only been a couple of days," Dean says. He eyes Castiel's hands, the long slender fingers twisting the feather and doesn't even try to resist reaching out to still Castiel's restless fidgeting. "It'll probably go faster if you don't future-seek every five seconds," he adds.

Castiel stares at their joined hands, and then lifts his gaze to Dean's face. Dean's teasing doesn't earn him a smile, but the wings smooth out and Dean thinks Castiel's relaxed a bit. And a very good thing too because Dean would have been forced to stroke Castiel's feathers and he doesn't want the old lady watching them at the end of the aisle to see. It seems like a private activity.

"Indeed," Castiel agrees, straightening up, his conviction returning. "Thank you, Dean."

"Whatever," Dean says, though he's secretly pleased by the thanks. "Come on, I need soap."

*****************************************

Two days and thirty-seven future-seekings later, Dean is still without a mate.

Once Dean corrects Castiel's attraction misstep, it does become easier to get quick and accurate future-seekings. It's just that the seekings are getting more bleak as time goes by. None of the matches Castiel did early in their acquaintance were good enough, but at least Dean had been able to find some measure of happiness in a few of them. Now the matches show Castiel a sad and lonely Dean, even when he's married. The matches with children do provide more joy, but something is holding Dean back. Something is making him always look backwards, forcing him to live in the past.

A conversation they share their third evening together gives Castiel an idea of what that thing might be.

Dean takes Castiel to a restaurant called The Roadhouse. The owner is a woman named Ellen who Dean introduces as the mother of Jo Harvelle, the rookie. Dean explains that Jo's father Bill was also an officer of the law and Ellen opened her business to cater to the local police. Which means that Dean is familiar with most of the patrons in the bar. A perfect place to future-seek.

Castiel suspects Ellen Harvelle is extremely amused by his presence in Dean's life. She leads them to a table, a smile quivering at the corner of her mouth and a spark of good humor in her eye. Dean is watching her with caution and seems to relax when they reach the table without incident. Just when Castiel thinks they will escape without comment, Ellen clamps a hand on Dean's shoulder and turns to the rest of the room.

"Hey, guys. Dean's here with his special angel friend and he doesn't want any questions, so you be nice to him. Angels are our guests," she bellows.

Not teasing after all, Castiel thinks with a smile, but then he notices the way Dean's hunched down and hiding behind his menu.

"That was very polite," Castiel offers after Ellen marches back to the bar.

"Right," Dean mutters. "Real polite."

The others in the bar are staring in their direction with varying degrees of amusement. This must have been when Dean feared when he told Castiel to keep his job a secret. Humans shouldn't be ashamed of love and they certainly shouldn't make Dean uncomfortable. Castiel stares back at them. He's learned in his few short days on Earth that staring makes humans feel ill at ease. Well, most humans. Dean just usually stares right back.

In this case, Castiel's plan works and soon enough the other bar goers turn back to their drinks and food.

"Your friends have a strange way of showing affection," Castiel comments lightly.

Dean snaps open the menu and Castiel watches his green eyes flick up and down the items listed.

"They're just teasing," he defends, even through his embarrassment. Castiel smiles again.

"I see."

"They wouldn't do it if they didn't care...and weren't a bunch of pricks," Dean says, tossing the menu aside. "You take the good and the bad."

"Yes, I think I understand," Castiel says and this time he actually means it. Humans and angels may have significant differences, but in this, Castiel thinks they are very similar.

"My brothers often tease me about my distasteful wings."

He is only trying to establish a sense of camaraderie with Dean, but for some reason, this comment creates a violent burst of anger within Dean, a pulse so strong that Castiel can't help sensing it. Dean leans forward on one elbow and points a finger in Castiel's face.

"Your brothers are a bunch of fucking douchebags, Cas," he growls. "There's a difference between teasing and mocking a guy for no reason. They're just jealous because their wings are boring and yours are fucking gorgeous," he declares, his words heated, but completely earnest. Castiel senses no embarrassment in Dean, only an intense desire for Castiel to understand that his wings are actually very attractive. Almost against his will, Castiel falls further into Dean's emotions, seeking and trying to make sense of what he's being told. He quickly finds himself captured in a thick warm feeling he can't identify. It's something fond and pleasant and Castiel thinks he could stay in this gentle inviting sphere of emotion for a very long time.

But then Castiel remembers with a jolt of harsh reality that he has no right to Dean's emotions. He rips himself away, appalled at his lack of control. Terrible cold rushes into the places left by Dean's warmth and Castiel pulls his wings in close around him, trying to generate heat.

"You okay?" Dean asks, eyes on Castiel's wings, expression one of concern.

"I'm fine," Castiel lies. Dean obviously doesn't believe Castiel because he sighs.

"I'm sorry, man. I know they're your family and I'd be pretty pissed if some jackass was talking about Sam that way, but...it's true though. You don't treat family like that."

Castiel doesn't know how to tell Dean he isn't offended. That he had, in fact, very much enjoyed hearing Dean compliment his wings. So he just nods and picks up his menu, though he has no intention of ordering anything. Neither speaks for a time and during this silence, a server comes round the table to discover that Dean wants a cheeseburger and a beer.

"I'm just going to pretend we aren't having an awkward silence," Dean announces a moment later. "I mean, not all your brothers are dicks right? Tell me some of them are nice to you."

"Of course they are," Castiel snaps, finally feeling a tinge of annoyance with Dean's disrespectful attitude. After all, he can't exactly blame his brothers for their point of view, not when he wasn't entrusted with a request for all the thousands of years they've known him.

"Alright, alright," Dean says, shifting in his seat. "Don't get your feathers in a twist, man. I'm just trying to ask you about your life," he adds, looking away as a faint blush creeps up his neck.

"Oh. I..." Until Dean, Castiel had never met a creature that could so easily confuse his thoughts. "I spend most of my time with my superior, Michael."

"Yeah?" Dean asks cautiously.

"Yes. When it became apparent I wouldn't be given a task, Michael gave me the occupation of assisting him in passing out Request assignments," Castiel explains. He can still clearly recall the sweet shock of gratitude he'd felt when Michael, _the_ Michael, First Angel and most powerful, had stopped by Castiel's bedchamber to ask for his special help. _I'll admit, I'm a bit absent-minded_ , he'd said with a chagrinned smile. _I've needed the help for years._

Castiel never believed Michael couldn't handle his job by himself, which just made his willingness to help all the more precious to Castiel. Of all his brothers, Castiel is the most intimate with Michael. Their friendship has made Castiel's inactivity much more bearable.

"So your boss is a nice guy." Dean smiles at the server, who sets a beer in front of him. "That's pretty helpful. I worked for this absolute asshole once. Alastair." Dean shivers and takes a swallow of the beer. "I couldn't wait to get out of that job. But Bobby's a real good guy. He used to work with my dad."

"You don't speak often of your parents," Castiel says as soon as the realization sets in. "I didn't know your father was a police officer."

"Yeah, it's kinda the family business, you might say," Dean says. His eyes are distant and his tone oddly guarded, but he doesn't stop speaking, so Castiel listens quietly. "Mom's parents were both officers. She and dad met at the academy, but Mom quit the force years before I was even born. Her dad was killed in the line and she just...she didn't want to be in danger anymore."

Dean puffs a laugh then, but he doesn't look amused. Far from it, in fact.

"Anyway, Dad kept on with it, though he took a desk job for her sake. And he passed the job onto me. Sammy too, after a fashion. He's a lawyer." A smile imbued with genuine humor graces his lips. "We're like an episode of Law and Order."

Castiel doesn't understand this reference, though he suspects it involves some form of electronic media. Dean had spent nearly an hour the previous evening expounding the multiple reasons why he preferred older fashioned tapes to CDs and iPods, but why it was okay to change VHS tapes to DVDs and Blu Ray. Which led to a confession that Castiel had never seen a movie before. And that led to Dean tugging him to his couch so they could watch a movie called _Star Wars_.

"Where are your parents now?"

"Dead. Mom when I was a kid and Dad...on a case," Dean says and the brief pained hesitation catches Castiel's attention, but when he looks more closely, Dean's expression is blank. Too blank and Castiel can only glean a faint sense of fatigue from Dean's surface emotions, as if Dean's felt so much sorrow over his parents' deaths that he hasn't got the energy to grieve anymore. But the whole situation hurts Castiel deeply. He doesn’t like the idea of Dean being numb from simply too much heartache. The grief Dean can't feel right now falls through Castiel's middle in a sickening swoop and he reaches out, stretches his left wing until two of his feathers press gently against Dean's knee.

"I'm sorry," Castiel says.

Dean jerks in faint surprise and he glances under the table. When he sees the feathers, a peculiar emotion flickers over his face. Castiel thinks it's both disbelief and humor. Whatever it is, Dean relaxes a great deal and then turns the surprise back on Castiel by wrapping his hand around the feathers. His fingers are warm and strong and Castiel feels the electric buzz created by their touch all the way up to his shoulder joints.

"Thanks," Dean says, his soft gentle tone another surprise.

He doesn't move his hand even when the server delivers his cheeseburger. In fact, Dean doesn't move at all, just stares at the food, expression dark with deep thought and indecision. Castiel waits with patience for Dean to make his mind up about whatever's occupying his thoughts. He's rewarded only a moment later when Dean's eyes snap to his face and he leans closer.

"How long you been Michael's right-hand man?"

Another phrase Castiel doesn't recognize, though he can parse its meaning from context clues. He rather likes the way it sounds.

"Almost all the moments of my life," Castiel says. "Time moves differently in Heaven, but in your calendar, it would be approximately two and a half thousand years."

The answer stops Dean short. His urgency is torn away in favor of abrupt shock.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No," Castiel says calmly. Dean amuses him greatly. He needs so much time and mental energy to process such normal information.

"Holy crap, Cas, you're friggin' Methuselah! How haven't you jumped off the side of a building yet?" As soon as he says it, Dean recoils a little, as if disgusted with himself. "Shit, Sam was right. I really am a dick. I'm sorry."

Castiel laughs at him.

"You are a very unusual human, Dean," he says. Taking offense at an extremely human reaction to Heavenly life doesn't even occur to Castiel. To creatures that rarely live past one hundred years, Castiel's age must be incredible. And since humans are volatile and impulsive, lacking even a shred of typical angelic patience, Castiel's long march to this very job would seem interminable.

What really impresses Castiel is the worry Dean feels over offending him.

"Yeah, well, you're a weirdo, so I guess we're a match set," Dean says and though embarrassment is written across his features, so is no small amount of pleasure.

Dean finally starts to eat his food. It's awkward for him to handle the sandwich with one hand, but Dean doesn't release Castiel's feathers.

"Anyway, what I was going to ask before you told me you're older than the entire cast of Cocoon," Dean says through a mouthful of food, "is whether you remember a lot of the requests or not."

Many of the Dean's actions and words strike Castiel as incredibly endearing and even attractive. Seeing the food inside his mouth while he talks is not one of them. His expression must show this thought because Dean swallows and points the sandwich at him.

"Don't you start with me, angel-boy. I'm hungry," he says, defensively. Though Castiel notices he waits until he's done talking again to take another bite. Castiel chooses to ignore the entire interaction in favor of answering Dean's question.

"I don't have a perfect recall of the information, but I doubt even Michael remembers each and every case. Actually, one of the jobs I do is to record each request and its outcome to be stored in the Great Repository."

"The...like a library?" Dean drops the sandwich, his focus returning full-force.

"Um, I believe so," Castiel says. "We store each request on its own blessed scroll in a large building near the center of the Silver City."

"So you been writing out these things pretty much my whole life," Dean says thoughtfully.

Everything falls into place.

"Oh." Excitement rolls over Castiel in waves. "This has to do with why you dislike angels, doesn't it? A request that didn't go to your liking?"

"What? No! I mean, it's not...look, I was just curious. I don't...are you even allowed to talk about this?" Dean asks, glancing around edgily as if he fears the Angel Council is going to send a lightning bolt right down onto his head.

"I would be forbidden from discovering information about another angel's request," Castiel says. "But if I already know it, I could tell you."

He's stretching the rules a bit. It's true that breaking into the Great Repository to seek information about another angel's request would land Castiel in serious trouble. But giving Dean the information is unlikely to change anything. Except it might give Dean a measure of peace to understand why the request happened the way it did. And giving Dean peace of mind will help Castiel do his job. So, in a sense, Castiel has an obligation to try.

"I don't know, man," Dean says and he finally releases Castiel's wing to run a hand through his hair. Once again, Castiel is left feeling bereft and cold.

"Look, I don't want to have sharing and caring time, so just tell me if you remember a woman named Mary Winchester. She died on November 2nd, 1983 and when she prayed, she was sent a female angel with red-hair," Dean says, words clipped and tone hard. Castiel thinks it must be his way of talking about this event without an extreme display of emotionalism.

Unfortunately, the name and the time period don't mean anything to Castiel. Even the detail about Mary's angel having red-hair is not helpful. Most female angels have red-hair, just like most of the males are blond. Except Castiel, of course, but nothing about Castiel is typical.

"I...I'm sorry, Dean. I don't recognize that name."

He hates saying it and he really hates the way Dean's shoulders slump, the way he looks away, but not before Castiel catches the flare of angry regret in his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm not surprised, I guess. You guys must get a bunch of requests," Dean mutters.

They do. Millions upon millions of them every year and Castiel never thought one was more or less important than any other until this very moment.

"I'm sorry," he says again and this time, Dean seems to really hear him. Turning back again, he offers Castiel a weak smile.

"I know, man. It's not your fault. Thanks for trying," he says sincerely.

His gratitude comforts Castiel, but he knows he won't forget about this mysterious request. Not if it still so clearly troubles Dean. So Castiel tucks the thought away for safe-keeping and watches for another opportunity to find out more information.

That opportunity presents itself the very next night.


	5. Chapter 5

"Okay, just promise me, whatever he says, you won't believe it unless I tell you it’s true."

Castiel is once again standing on the front steps of Sam Winchester's home. Only this time, he is pressed close against Dean's side and looking into Dean's wide earnest eyes.

"He lies about me all the time," Dean adds for emphasis.

"I promise to believe only you," Castiel says, but he is just teasing. He hopes Dean understands this because in reality, Castiel is looking forward to gleaning details about Dean's life from his brother. Much of Dean is an open book, but so much more is hidden away under dense layers of misdirection and false flippancy. Based on what Dean's related about their close kinship, Sam is probably the human who knows Dean the best.

"Yeah, right," Dean says and then he opens the door, not bothering to knock. "Sammy! We're here!"

"We're in the kitchen!" is the shout they hear in return. Dean hooks a finger through a loop on the end of Castiel's coat sleeve and drags him in the direction of the kitchen. It's an action Dean rather enjoys, pulling and tugging Castiel where Dean wishes him to go. Castiel allows it because he has no objection to these places and because he knows that with ten times Dean's strength, Castiel could stop him whenever he wants.

The kitchen is a light and airy space. Huge windows along one wall make way for brilliant shafts of yellow light. Castiel is immediately distracted by the way golden sparks of dust fall in lazy circles down through the bars of light.

"Hey, guys," Sam says and Dean releases Castiel's coat so he can clap Sam's shoulder and kiss the cheek of the woman standing next to him.

"Cas?"

Castiel pulls his attention away from this small random bit of Earthly beauty and smiles.

"You've met Sam, of course," Dean says. Sam silently asks for Castiel's hand, which he grants. He likes how large and gentle Sam's hands are.

"This is Sam's wife, Jess," Dean continues, gesturing to the woman. Like the brothers, she is tall and athletic. Her long hair is blond and her smile is nervous. By current human standards, she is quite beautiful. Strange how so many attractive humans should find their way into one cluster.

"Hi," Jess says. "Um, it's really nice to meet you. I've always wanted to meet an angel."

Jess and Sam both exude a similar sense of anxiety, an insistent desire to please Castiel that makes him feel a bit uncomfortable. Dean's aggravation with angels is frustrating, but in ways, far easier to handle.

"It's my pleasure," Castiel says, trying to ease away from his discomfort. It's not Jess' fault that angels are generally revered on Earth. "I've always wanted to meet humans."

For some reason, this comment makes Dean snort with laughter.

The next few moments pass in what Castiel assumes is idle human chitchat while Sam finishes preparing a meal. Jess asks Castiel about his work and in return relates stories about her job educating five year-old humans. Judging by her accounts, Castiel thinks waiting thousands of years for a job is simple in comparison. Still, she obviously enjoys it because her sweet soul fills with love and delight when she talks about her small charges.

Eventually, Sam announces their food is finished and he makes each of them transport a dish to the dining room. Castiel is given the care of a bowl of green and orange vegetables, which he bears with great caution. Something about the way he clutches the bowl with both hands apparently amuses Dean because he snorts again and rolls his eyes at him as Castiel carefully sets the bowl on the table. After they are all seated, Dean picks up the plate in front of Castiel and begins to fill it with food.

"Dean," Castiel says, but Dean cuts him off.

"I don't wanna hear it, Cas. I get it. You think human food'll make you sick or something." He pauses, a spoonful of pasta poised over the bowl. "Wait, it won't make you sick, will it?"

"Not sick." Castiel eyes the noodles and tries not to think about how wonderful the sauce smells. "Michael says it's not very healthy. Our diets are very strict."

An odd gleam of inexplicable joy flashes in Dean's eyes.

"So you're saying this is like junk food?"

"I don't-"

"Dean," Sam interrupts. "Don't corrupt him."

"Junk food, Sam," Dean says as if this is explanation enough. "He wants it. I can tell," he says, glancing back to Castiel. "You wanna try it, don't you? It's not against the rules, right?"

"Not technically," Castiel says slowly as he watches Dean pour the sauce over the noodles and add a serving of the green and orange vegetables. A pile of smaller vegetables, also green, finish the plate which Dean sets back in front of Castiel.

"Just taste it," Dean says. He's very close and his expression is so hopeful. The food smells delicious, so good that Castiel feels water gathering in his mouth and it's not like this would be the first time he's bent the rules on this job. Nor really the second time because eating human foods isn't even really against the rules.

"What is it?" Castiel asks, picking up the fork beside his plate. A pleased grin breaks across Dean's face and he points to each item in turn as he talks.

"Salad," he says, indicating the green and orange vegetables. "Peas," the smaller vegetables, "and beef stroganoff," is the noodles and brown sauce. "Dig in."

Noodles are very difficult to spear onto a fork. It takes several false starts before Castiel manages to gather a reasonable amount of noodles, meat and sauce onto the fork. The others watch eagerly as Castiel transfers the bite to his mouth and takes his first taste of human food.

Until that moment, Castiel never properly understood the point of taste buds. The smoky heat of a dark spice, an impression of salt and the tang of something else he couldn't possibly describe all at once assault his tongue. For the first time in his life, Castiel tastes _flavor_. Pure shocking and glorious flavor fills his mouth and against his will, a low keening noise escapes his throat.

"I guess you like it." Dean's voice is strangled and his eyes are wide, but Castiel doesn't take the time to figure out why. He's far too busy swallowing and tracking the feeling of the food sliding into his stomach, hot and satisfying. This is nothing like the bland gray porridge and hard wheat crackers that make up angel diets.

Dean watches him take another bite in apparent fascination.

"If this is the reaction we get out of friggin' beef stroganoff, what are you going to be like when we feed you sugar?"

"I can see why Michael warned us against human comforts," Castiel says, eyeing the dwindling pile of beef and noodles, already regretting the end of the meal. "One could easily become distracted by these Earthly pleasures."

Sam and Dean exchange a look, but it's Dean that says what Castiel thinks they are both wondering.

"When you say Earthly pleasures..." Another look passes between them and Castiel sees Jess trying to signal a silent message to Sam. Possibly a warning, but he can't tell. "Are you talking about sex too?"

Jess sighs and turns red. She probably was trying to send a warning after all. But Castiel doesn't see the problem. Sex isn't any more reason to be embarrassed than love is.

"Sex is carefully regulated among my kind." Before Dean can ask his inevitable questions, Castiel launches into a full-on description. He's learned well by now that humans are nearly insatiable in their curiosity.

"We must procreate, like any creature, but only certain of my brothers are allowed to awaken their sexual urges in order to do so. I'm not sure how the selection is made. I assume it has to do with which of my brothers is able to most successfully deny those urges once they are roused. Angel births are rather infrequent though, so not many of my brothers are troubled with it."

All three humans stare at Castiel for nearly a full minute. Dean, of course, is the first to find his voice.

"They...you...you sound like you're talking about livestock! They don't let you have sex? What happens if you fall in love?"

Castiel frowns. "You're attributing human qualities to non-human beings. Angels don't fall in love. Sex is only needed to continue our species."

"But does it feel good?" Sam asks, glancing to Jess as he does so. "Or is it just an issue of denying a biological urge, not an emotional one?"

"I don't know," Castiel answers. "I've never been selected to mate."

This statement creates another round of shocked silence, only this time the surprise is mixed with troubled pity, at least from Sam and Jess. Dean on the other hand appears entirely incapable of processing this information.

"I don't mind," Castiel assures them. He's never thought he'd be selected to father a child. He knew his superiors wouldn't want to pass his abnormal genes on to another generation. "Sex is not imperative for angels."

"Yeah, I get that," Dean snaps and he sounds angry. "But humans can go without sex too. Hell, everyone on Earth could stop having sex except to make kids and no one would die from it. Maybe they'd just feel like they were. Haven't you ever wanted...wasn't there ever anyone you wanted to be close to? Anyone who ever made you feel like you just wanted to touch them? Like you _had_ to touch them?"

And Castiel's mind offers him memories. Of wanting to step closer to Dean, to feel Dean's body heat wrapping around him. His wings twitch with the muscle memory of restraining their desire to gather Dean against him. He remembers the inexplicable heat he'd felt when Dean touched his wing joint, the way his mind imagined feeling Dean's fingers sliding over his naked skin. Castiel thinks about Dean's parents and how Castiel couldn't stop himself from offering comfort, from touching Dean because he just _had_ to do it.

"I've...I've never felt that way about any of my fellow angels," Castiel says carefully. He breaks the gaze he'd locked with Dean's and looks away, down at his salad.

"Oh," Dean says. The anger is gone, leaving a pained disappointment in its place.

"Well, that's okay," Jess says brightly, obviously trying to cover the awkwardness of the moment. She looks at Sam, offering another silent communication.

"Yeah, no, that's interesting," Sam says suddenly. "I mean, I didn't know angels had families like that. So some of your brothers are your actual _brother_ brothers."

"Possibly," Castiel says distractedly. He wishes Dean would look at him. "I don't know which of my brothers gave birth to me."

With this new tidbit, Castiel manages to snag Dean's attention back to himself.

"They didn't tell you?"

"No. My garrison is my family and God is our Father. It would be difficult to maintain impartiality if certain of our brothers were singled out by a special relationship," he says.

Dean narrows his eyes at Castiel and then shakes his head. "Yeah, but you said you were bffs with your boss. And you share a bedroom with some other angels. Doesn't that make you have a special relationship with them?"

As matter of fact, it does. Castiel never really understood why familial relationships were discouraged when angels inevitably formed stronger bonds with their chamber-mates. Michael is Castiel's closest friend, but he is nearly as familiar with Uriel, Anna and Zachariah. He and Uriel especially share a close bond because Uriel was born the Wednesday before Castiel's Thursday of birth. And Anna...well, Castiel has always had a different and special relationship with Anna.

"I've always suspected that one of my chamber-mates, Anna, is my mother," Castiel says absently.

"Yeah, no special relationships, my ass," Dean grumbles, leaning back in his chair. "You know, the more I hear about you angels, the more I'm convinced that it's just like any human government. Just a bunch of hot air and hair dos and rules no one follows. Why don't you just ask this Anna chick if she's your mom?"

"We aren’t supposed to discuss it. I wouldn't want to put her in the position where she had to lie to me," Castiel evades, but he can see that Dean understands his hesitation.

"You're afraid she'd be insulted if you insinuated your freaky ass came out of her," Dean accuses.

"Dean!" Sam admonishes him. But Castiel can't deny it's true. Anna has always given Castiel special attention, always took care of him when he was still small and never made him feel worthless because of his appearance. But he never wanted to presume or chance upsetting her with his questions.

"It's true," Castiel says softly.

"Seriously, douchebags and dicks. That's all they are," Dean growls and this apparently proves too much for Sam.

He shoots out of his chair and hands Dean his now empty food dish.

"Why don't you start clearing up the dishes, Dean?"

"What?" Dean looks startled, both by the dish and by the stern expression on Sam's face.

"Go. Dishes. I'm taking Castiel into the living room for a drink," Sam says and he lightly touches Castiel's shoulder. "And when you're done being a jerk, you're welcome to join us."

They stare at each other. It feels very like a competition. One which Sam, whether because of his menacing demeanor or Dean's own sense of guilt, apparently wins because Dean grabs the plate and stacks it on his own, mumbling threats under his breath. Jess bites the inside of her mouth and reaches over to give Dean's arm a friendly squeeze.

"Don't worry. I'll help you," she offers.

Sam gestures for Castiel to follow him into the living room, but Castiel doesn't want to go if Dean is still angry.

"Dean?" he asks quietly.

Dean pauses. His eyes falls shut and he takes a deep breath. When he looks back at Castiel, he seems calmer and though he isn't angry anymore, he looks sad. Castiel likes this emotion even less on Dean.

"Sorry, Cas. I just...Sorry," he says and then he leaves the dining room before Castiel can answer. Jess gives him a softly sympathetic look as she follows Dean into the kitchen. With a sigh of frustratation, reflected in a disgruntled rustle of his feathers, Castiel joins Sam in the living room.

"You don't really have to drink," Sam says. He is pouring a light brown liquid into a short squat glass. "In fact, if you never have, it's probably better if you don't right now."

"Thank you," Castiel says, gathering his wings into his arms so he can fit into a black leather seat.

"Sorry about Dean. He's not been this way the whole time, has he?" Sam asks anxiously, searching Castiel's face for signs of offense.

"No, he's been...no," Castiel says. "I'm not offended with him. I know Dean feels emotions very deeply and they upset him. And I know he is angry about a request that went wrong."

Sam's expression changes, from nervous to resigned and that's when Castiel realizes the perfect opportunity he's been given.

"What happened with the request, Sam?"

"He didn't tell you?"

"Not in detail. Just that your mother sent a request. I know Dean is not comfortable with this topic, but I fear I won't be able to do my job properly unless I know more about Dean's past. Something there is holding him back and making it impossible for Dean to form a romantic relationship. I think this might be it," Castiel says. He is surprised by his own voice, by how deep and gruff his tone becomes over his concern for Dean. The genuine worry must be evident to Sam as well because he heaves a sigh and deflates, his head lying back against the couch cushions.

"I guess it won't hurt to tell you. It's not really a secret anyway and it's partly my story as well," Sam says. A sip of the alcohol pulls a pained look out of Sam, but Castiel thinks it helps steel Sam's resolve nonetheless.

"She was murdered when I was six months old," Sam says hurriedly, like he thinks it will hurt less if he says as fast as possible. "She was killed by a serial arsonist we've always called the Y.E.D. because we've never learned his real name."

That grief Castiel felt for Mary's death returns, pressed painfully into his chest by the addition of horror and anger. He'll never understand the unspeakable cruelties humans visit upon one another. The way they tear at each other and delight in giving each other pain and fear and hatred. In class, their lessons on evil always shocked Castiel, but nothing could prepare for the very real experience of knowing that a human, a person he loves, has been hurt so very deeply.

"He spoke of the Y.E.D. at work," Castiel says, his voice now unrecognizable under the weight of his fury. "I did not know he was the perpetrator of this terrible crime."

"Yeah," Sam says. He becomes tense, eyes glued to Castiel's face, but he doesn't comment on Castiel's behavior. "Dean told me he got sent on a wild goose chase for information. He always does. Any little mention of anything to do with the case and Dean drops everything to chase after him. Dad was the same way and it got him killed."

"The Y.E.D killed your father too?" Castiel asks, shocked anew.

"Not directly. After Mom died, Dad got back into homicide investigation and he worked his ass off trying to get this guy. He and Dean worked the case together after Dean graduated from the Academy and one night they thought they had him. They were so close and then..." Sam falters in his story for the first time and swallows hard. "Dad took a bullet meant for Dean and it turned out it was just a fucking copy-cat. It wasn't Y.E.D. at all. Dean's never forgiven himself for that."

Fury and sorrow are starting to overwhelm Castiel. He can feel his wings shifting and tossing like angry waves and he sees that he is beginning to seriously frighten Sam, but he can't help himself. Dean's been carrying this pain around inside himself for years and Castiel didn't know. He was sitting safe up in Heaven, while Dean was stewing in grief and pain and existing without Castiel to help him.

It's too much.

"Tell me everything you know about the Y.E.D.," Castiel commands.

"There isn't much really. There hasn’t been very much new evidence in years. It’s pratically a cold case. Not that that stops Dean from jumping at any mention of the murders, of course,” Sam says with a forlorn sigh. “We think he's responsible for about ten murders across the state of Kansas, mostly close in around Lawrence, but a few over in Kansas City and Topeka. All women. All mothers of young children," he continues, straightening back up from the couch and leaning his elbows on both knees. "Y.E.D. stands for Yellow-eyed Demon. Dad named him that because...because when he saw him in my nursery and it looked like his eyes flashed yellow. And because he's an evil son of a bitch," Sam spits bitterly and for the first time Castiel sees how difficult this must be for Sam as well. Losing a mother before he knew her and then watching the rest of his family destroy itself trying to locate her killer.

"Your mother prayed for help, didn't she?" Castiel says. In his anger, he'd almost forgotten the original reason for this conversation. It seems only distantly important now in comparison to all the other pains the Winchesters have suffered.

"Yeah and she got it, too."

"Then...how was she allowed to die?"

"She didn't pray for herself, Castiel," Sam says. He gazes into the glass of alcohol, but Castiel doesn't think he is seeing it.

"That bastard stabbed her before he set the fire. I think she knew she was going to die and she just wanted to make sure we were safe. I don't think she even thought about herself. All that mattered was making sure we got out safely."

Castiel immediately sees how it must have gone. Mary Winchester prayed for her family's safe deliverance and an angel was dispatched. Dean must have met the angel and spoken with her. He can so easily imagine Dean, tiny and scared, begging the angel to save his mother, please save his mother. Or maybe he heard his father begging the same thing and all Dean remembers is the angel's refusal. Because Castiel knows she must have refused. The most sacred rule in angelic society is that requests must be completed to the letter. If the angel wasn't charged with saving Mary's life, then they would never do it, no matter how much they were begged.

"I think it's easier for Dean to blame angels for Mom's death than it is for him to believe she was meant to die or something," Sam says sadly. "I don't blame him. It's hard for me to accept that it was her fate, _my_ fate never to know her."

Castiel knows what he should say. That it was Mary's time. That he would have done the same thing the red-haired angel did. But he doesn't want to say those things. He doesn't want to think those things. All he wants to do is fix it. If Dean can’t find information about Y.E.D. through Earthly methods, then they must turn to Heavenly ones. Castiel must clear Dean’s heart of Y.E.D.’s shadow.

"What day of the week did your mother die?"

"Uh...um, it was Wednesday, I think. Why?" Sam asks, utterly confused.

"I'll need to know where to start looking," Castiel explains as he extracts himself from the sofa.

"Looking for what? What are you talking about?" Sam asks, hopping up from the couch to join him. Castiel curls his hand over Sam's thick shoulder and peers up into his worried eyes.

"Tell Dean I'll return as soon as I can."

He doesn't wait for an answer before opening his wings and disappearing.


	6. Chapter 6

Sneaking into the Great Repository won't be the hard part. Since Castiel took over the recording work from Michael, the Repository Guards have become used to seeing him. The building itself, hewn from blue-streaked Seraph stones, recognizes his grace. It's doubtful his presence will raise an alarm.

Or it wouldn't if Castiel were checking in during the day shift. But when he leaves Sam Winchester confused and worried in his living room, it is well into the night shift in Heaven. Castiel’s been in the Repository during the evening but rarely. He'll have to tread lightly here.

But his nerves are nothing compared to the painful tangle of scorching anger and cutting sorrow gathered into a hard knot in his chest. A protectiveness Castiel hadn't realized he possessed is surging within him, strong and sure, pushing him along a path he knows he'll never regret. Even if the Guards do turn him over to Michael.

This task is simply more important than Castiel's disciplinary record.

Shadows fill the faded gold street that fronts the massive marbled structure. Even flying straight up, it would take Castiel several minutes to reach its top. The immense size allows the building to house every request made since the beginning of time. Knowing the day of the prayer and name of the requester will help Castiel narrow his search, but it may still take hours to discover the assigned angel.

Castiel slips off the main thoroughfare into the darkness pouring off the building. Very few of his brothers are travelling the main roads at this time of night. This is what Castiel meant when he told Dean that time works differently in Heaven. On Earth, day and night take turns ruling opposite sides of the world, each one in power somewhere throughout all of the earthly realm's twenty-four hours. But in Heaven, daylight lasts through both cycles. Night falls in the heavenly realm only during a secret time, an extra eight hours squeezed into a space that does not exist on Earth. It is a silent time when no prayers reach Heaven and angels can rest. The Great Repository should be empty but for those few of his brothers that drew a quarterly nightshift assignment.

But even if the streets were overflowing with his brothers, Castiel could escape their attention with ease. He's perfected his ability to melt into the background, to avoid the suspicion and the scorn by effectively making himself invisible. His natural reserve and quiet desire to be helpful combine to keep Castiel from standing out any more than he wishes.

The first thing that Castiel sees when he tugs open the heavy cobalt doors is one of his sisters standing at the small deposit booth. She glances at him when he enters, her red hair swaying over her slim shoulders. Castiel doesn't recognize her, but her light green tunic indicates that she belongs to Gabriel. He remains calm and simply nods at her, cool and casual as if he belongs there.

She nods back and turns away towards her business.

The breath escapes Castiel's lungs in a relieved, but fortunately silent rush.

It takes a moment to walk through the wide lobby, the echo of his step bouncing from ceiling to floor and back again. When he finally makes it across, he turns down the path that leads to the Michael garrison's storage section. At the end of this corridor, there is a door with the words HALLS OF RECORD written on it. Castiel quickly types in FOURTH EPOCH. He hears a low rumble that increases in volume as the halls spin past the door and then the noise abruptly ceases after a hard clicking sound. The door opens with a hiss of warm fragrant air onto the long narrow hallway that stores all requests from the fourth epoch. Walking will take too long, so Castiel rises on his wings and leans forward, jetting passed hundreds of thousands of shelves towards where the more recent requests are located. His mind is preoccupied with keeping his mental and emotional state normal, so that the ultra-sensitive Seraph stones won't record his presence as an anomaly. So preoccupied in fact that he nearly flies past the shelves that contain requests from what Dean knows as the early 1980s on Earth.

He sets down and though the Fourth Epoch Hall is quite empty, tiptoes to the shelves.

The search begins.

As he picks up the first scroll, Castiel feels a brief spark of memory. Not true recognition, just the sense that he's touched these papers before. He realizes with a jolt that he is literally the only angel in existence that could open these scrolls and close them without raising suspicions because they are sealed with his very own grace. Only his blessing would return the scrolls to their original state.

Further confirmation in Castiel's heart that this action is the right one.

When he opens the scroll, Castiel senses also the presence of Michael's grace, the force of his particular brand confirming that this request was carried out. The combination of their graces is one Castiel knows well and it makes him feel both good and bad. Good because it reminds Castiel of their many days spent together. And bad because Castiel probably smiled and laughed and felt joy as Dean's life crumbled away and to Cas, it was just another job, another request. He wonders if Dean wasn't at least a little bit right in believing angels callous. Castiel didn't know until he met Dean that there's a difference between feeling pity and distant sorrow for a human and really living their pain.

The hours pass too quickly for Castiel's liking. The search is slowed by his constant pauses to bless the scrolls back to normal. He keeps part of his attention on the minutes slipping away and as it gets closer to the start of dayshift, Castiel has to work hard to keep panic and frustration from rising within him and alerting the Seraph stones. So frantic are his movements and so intense his focus that Castiel very nearly closes and reseals what turns out to be the correct scroll. Luckily the word "Kansas" jumps out at him and Castiel curses himself for becoming clumsy. He unfolds the scroll completely and reads.

REQUESTER: Mary Winchester

LOCATION: Lawrence, Kansas, United States of America

REQUEST: _Oh God, save them. Angels, please, just get them out alive._

SPECIFICS: The subject of the prayer is John Winchester, 29 year old male and his two sons, Dean, age four and Samuel, age six months. The assigned angel is authorized to use any means necessary to extract the subjects safely from their burning home. This request shall be attended to immediately.

ASSIGNED ANGEL: Anna

There is nothing Castiel can do to stop the blast of astonishment when he sees Anna's name. No way for him to keep his knees from going weak, forcing his wings to press hard into the floor to hold his weight up. Around him, the Seraph stones brighten to a blazing hot azure and Castiel knows only minutes will pass before a guard is dispatched down this very hall. Even so, it's difficult to make his hands work correctly, difficult to think past his amazement that the answer to a question he'd been waiting to ask his whole life had been sleeping across the room from him for the same length of time.

His desire to escape capture on Dean's behalf wins out over whatever else he is feeling and Castiel finally manages to seal the scroll. He takes flight and shoots across the hall at blinding speeds. The corridor outside the Halls of Record transport door is empty, but it's the lobby that really worries him. It's the only way out and he fears his shock kept him from reaching it before the guards. He creeps along the wall beside the lobby door, his wings slipping soft and quiet over the blue stones. There's no noise, no footsteps or wing flaps and when he peers around the edge of the door, Castiel is surprised by a very empty lobby.

Unease follows after his surprise, but Castiel doesn't want to waste this opportunity, so he ducks into the lobby and flits across the hall out the door without a backwards glance. He finds the street similarly devoid of angels and instead of floating across, he flies straight up and over the Great Repository, taking the long way round back to his garrison's barracks.

He doesn't see another angel the entire way.

His unease grows into nervous anxiety. It's not that Castiel wishes to be seen. He just can't comprehend how his mistake didn't draw the attention of the entire Host, much less a few of his garrison's guards. This confusion is the only explanation Castiel has for the slight press of relief he feels when he turns the north corner of the barracks towards his bedchamber door and very nearly runs straight into Michael himself.

"Oh," Castiel says blankly. "Michael."

"Hello, Castiel," Michael answers cheerfully. "I see you are up early this morning."

The sun still hasn't risen over the silvered horizon, but Castiel knows it will make an appearance very shortly. It's not like Michael to be out at this hour. The many tasks required to run their garrison, not to mention the very difficult requests he handles himself, exhaust Michael to the point of requiring each moment of night's eight hours to rest.

"Yes," Castiel says, trying to fill his lungs with air and bring peace to his stomach. "I could say the same to you."

"And you may, if you wish," Michael and it sounds so like his normal teasing that Castiel feels himself beginning to relax. "Why don't you walk with me?"

He turns away and begins to walk, apparently expecting Castiel to follow. Castiel does, of course, though the unease starts to return. Michael usually questions Castiel when he does something out of the ordinary. Everything about their interaction so far is too _normal_.

They stroll along the side of the barracks without talking until they reach the entrance to the garden. Castiel is not surprised when Michael turns down the garden path. Michael loves the garden. He tells Castiel that the sight and scent of God’s precious flowers are his favorite in their Father's creation.

"Tell me of your request," Michael instructs gently. "I haven't seen much of you since it began and even then, you seemed distracted. How has it gone?"

How indeed. Castiel isn't sure he has words to describe how it’s gone. Certainly, he doesn't know how to describe the way Dean makes him feel or why he's willing to risk so much to ensure Dean's happiness. So he settles for a more clinical description.

"I admit, I struggled at first," he says as Michael directs them to a wrought-iron bench. "I wasn't sure what I had to do, but I think I understand now. I feel...I _am_ confident that Dean Winchester will have a love match before I am done with him."

Something flashes in Michael's light brown eyes, just long enough for Castiel to think the word 'joy' to himself. But that doesn't make sense to him. Pleasure, yes. Or maybe even pride. Castiel can see Michael feeling these emotions because of Castiel's success. But the deep and abiding joy he believes he saw? He can't explain that.

"Good. I was concerned because it's your first job and Earth can be overwhelming. I would understand if you ran into something that...shocked you," Michael says. At any other time, Castiel would have thought nothing of it, but with the fear and anxiety over his recent break-in still pumping in his veins, Castiel's ears catch on the word 'shocked'. They hear the slight twist in Michael's voice, the meaningful implication and Castiel's eyes snap to Michael's face. For a brief moment, Michael stares out at the lily bushes, but then he slowly slides his gaze to Castiel as he speaks again.

"As long as you do what you feel in your heart is right, then I trust you," he says very deliberately and Castiel feels the blood drain out of his face.

Michael _knows_.

He knows exactly where Castiel had been and what he'd been doing. And for some reason, he is giving permission. Encouraging Castiel even and of all the shocks he's gotten tonight, this encounter is the most staggering.

"Good luck, brother," Michael says when Castiel stays quiet, unable to speak. "Come find me if you get in over your head."

Michael stands and places his wide gentle hands on either side of Castiel's face. He leans down and presses a soft kiss, a blessing, into Castiel's dark hair.

And then he is gone.

**************************

Castiel finds Anna in the study. Always an early riser, Anna spends nearly every morning taking advantage of the calm and quiet she finds in the abandoned study. She is sitting in a large straight-backed chair made from a velvety green material that emphasizes her blood-red hair and the blinding white wings draped over the grooves of the chair's wing rests. When he first slips in through the heavy wooden doors, Anna doesn't seem to hear him. Her eyes stay on the book in her hands, which bound together with paper like they are on Earth. Castiel smiles. Her fascination with all things human is somewhat legendary.

"Anna?"

She jerks in place as her attention is snatched from the volume in her hands to Castiel.

"Oh, you startled me! I'm reading a mystery. You shouldn't sneak up on someone reading a mystery," she says, pressing one hand over her heart. Castiel snorts.

"How was I to know you were reading a mystery?"

"You should just know is all," she replies with a smile. She closes the book and lays it aside on the polished wood table beside her sofa seat. A flick of her hand indicates the identical chair opposite hers and once again, Castiel is directed to sit beside one of his elders.

"What brings you to the study at this time of day?"

Her expression is pleasant, her demeanor serene. Sometimes, when they talk like this, when Anna gives him that warm knowing look and Castiel feels like nothing bad will ever happen, it's hard for him to remember that Anna is a warrior. Almost all her requests are dangerous. She is given tricky life and death situations that their Father wouldn't dare trust to anyone else.

But this time, the dangers of her life are the only thing on Castiel's mind.

"I need to ask you something, Anna," he begins, gathering his thoughts without rushing himself. Anna won't be pleased when she finds out what he did, but then he's not pleased himself. He knows Anna carried out her task the right way. In his head, he knows this. But as he watches her face, eyes tracing along features familiar to him as his own, Castiel realizes a kernel of hurt has burrowed its way into the normal love and affection he holds for Anna. No one is at fault here. Not Anna, not Castiel and certainly not Dean. And yet, the creature Y.E.D. has manipulated Anna into a villain in Dean's mind and now, through that association, the idea has entered Castiel's.

Castiel feels sick with himself. Y.E.D. has taken too much already. Castiel won't let him taint this relationship as well. Though it pains him to do so, Castiel withdraws his focus away from Dean and the grief still waging within his chest. He forces himself back to rationality.

He brutally drives away the thought that his mother allowed the death of Dean's mother. Instead, he transforms the lie back into the truth. Anna didn't kill Mary.

She saved Dean.

"What is it?" she asks, concern creeping into her expression.

Castiel takes a deep breath. It's best to just say it. Anna is fairly straightforward. She must be to succeed the way she does.

"I need your help. I need some information about a request you carried out in Gregorian 1983. November 2nd. The requester was called Mary Winchester. You saved her family from a house fire," he explains.

Confusion joins Anna's concern.

"How did you know about the request?" Her confusion suddenly resolves itself into suspicion. "What have you done, Castiel?"

She knows now as well. If Castiel had remembered the case on his own, he wouldn't need information from her. He shrugs. Anna may be disappointed in him, but Castiel has Michael's approval. Quite frankly, he doesn't need any from her. He just needs the information before the dayshift starts, so he can return to Dean and resolve this situation with Y.E.D.

"Only what is necessary to do my job," he says lightly. "I need this information, Anna. Without it, I don't think my charge can ever be truly happy. I don't believe our Father waited thousands of years to give me a task I'm destined to fail."

The strength of his conviction on this point pours through his grace and off him in waves. Castiel sees when Anna senses it because her expression changes yet again, this time from suspicious to impressed. Not necessarily a happy emotion, it nonetheless makes Castiel feel good. He likes being taken seriously for once.

"This job is very important to you," Anna comments, leaning back in her chair and crossing one leg over the other. Her perfect wings are still and it makes Castiel think of Dean's eyes trailing over his ridiculous fidgeting wings.

"Dean is important to me," Castiel clarifies.

She studies him. Like Michael, Anna sometimes seems to look straight through Castiel. That's how Castiel feels now. But instead of being nervous, he holds steady. If Anna needs to scan his emotions to understand why he needs her help, then so be it.

"Oh, Castiel," she says a moment later. Her voice is sad and troubled. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

"What do you mean?" For the first time in this conversation, Castiel feels a prickle of discomfort.

"Angels...we can't be close to humans. You've forgotten your lessons, brother," she says, a trace of lecture in her tone. "I could understand if you only loved Dean. But you've gone and liked him."

Castiel frowns. "I don't understand."

"I know," Anna says. "That's why I'm worried. I never wanted you to feel pain, but especially not _this_ pain."

Thousands of years of study and Castiel still doesn't comprehend the complexities of his job. He thought angels were meant to love humans, but he isn't doing it right. He's supposed to love from a distance and not like his charge. But how can he do that when he feels such a draw to Dean? Why in the name of the Host did their Father send him to a human he can't resist?

"Look," Castiel says, standing and pacing around the back of the chair, suddenly anxious without knowing why. "Regardless of whatever inappropriate feelings you've detected in me, I need to help Dean. I need to find someone to take care of him and I can't do that until I've taken care of him first. And I can't take care of him if I can't erase this unresolved pain from his life."

He swoops to her side, surprising them both, and drops to his knee beside her chair.

"Please, Anna," he says, grasping her folded hands with his. "You saved Dean once. Help me do it again."

Anna says nothing, only searches his face for a very long time. Long enough that Castiel's knees begin to hurt. Not that he pays much attention to his discomfort. He focuses all his energy on Anna's grace, on reaching out to it and allowing his desperation and sorrow on Dean's behalf to flow across from his grace to Anna's. Her eyes fall shut and Castiel sees the moment she gives in, his pain obviously too much for her to ignore.

"Alright," she whispers. "I'll tell you, but you must promise me you will be careful."

"I promise," he assures her and then on impulse, he leans over to kiss her cheek. "Thank you, Anna."

She sighs, though Castiel thinks she looks a bit calmer. Retreating back to his seat, Castiel leans forward, eager for the information.

"She was murdered," Anna says softly, keeping her eyes closed. "Mary Winchester. A sweet soul. Strong and loving. I was very sorry to see her perish. She was everything the monster that killed her wasn't. I've rarely seen a soul like his, Castiel." A frown crosses her face and her eyes dart under her lids, as if she is reliving the memory right there. "There was hurt at his core and he'd covered it with revenge and bloodlust. He was truly evil."

"Do you remember his name? Or his face? Anything about him?"

"I'll never forget his face," she says. "He saw me. He was there the entire time. After he escaped John Winchester, he concealed himself outside the house and watched John beg me to save Mary's life. I didn't want to refuse him, Castiel."

She opens her eyes and meets his gaze. The warm fluid silver of her grace pours over him, encouraging him to understand how very seriously she means these words.

"I never want to leave humans like that, but I have to. I can only do what I'm charged with doing. No matter the cost," she says before looking away, at her hands twisting in her lap. Castiel tries to imagine refusing Dean if he were to beg for something, anything.

He can't.

"I understand," Castiel says because he almost does. At least, he understands that's how it's _supposed_ to work. "Can you show me his face?"

"I can do you one better," Anna says, eyes dragging up from her lap. "I followed him home. I remember where he lives."

"Why?" Castiel asks, surprised.

"I don't know," she confesses. "I just...I wanted...I don't know what I wanted, but it was hard to leave him alive. It really was."

He stares at her. Maybe they aren't that different after all.

"Come here." Anna scoots forward till she is sitting on the chair's edge and waits for Castiel to do the same. She lifts a hand to Castiel's forehead, presses two fingers between his eyes and Castiel sees. A rush of images and sounds, colors flashing in his eyes and wind roaring through his ears. He sees a white house. Flames licking up the side, chewing the wood into ash. A dark-haired man with panic and grief in his eyes. A crying baby nestled in his arms. A small boy with blond hair, staring up at Anna. Confused and scared. The weight of responsibility already pressing against his soul.

Then the images push away from the family. A flash of motion. The oil of a dark soul. The satisfaction of an evil creature.

A glimpse of yellow.

The information explodes into his mind. The man's name. His face. His home. His scent. Castiel will never forget. He'll follow the man to the ends of the Earth. He will make the man pay for what he did to the Winchesters. What he did to Dean. Sweet lonely Dean. Castiel's Dean.

"Castiel?"

Anna is shaking his shoulders. The connection is broken, has been for awhile, but the memories were so intense. Castiel feels himself shaking lightly. The adrenaline he sensed in her memories, the anger towards Y.E.D. and the desire to destroy had been a lot stronger than he realized it would be. These are the memories of a soldier. Anna may lack an individualized love for her charges, but she makes up for it with righteous indignation.

"I'm sorry," he sputters, unconsciously reaching down to toy with his left wing feathers.

"It's alright. It's overwhelming, I know. That's why you must be careful, Castiel," she says, her voice laced with actual fear now. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"I'll take care," Castiel assures her.

Gray light is beginning to steal into the room. There's not a moment to waste. He stands and Anna stands with him.

"I have to return to Dean," he says and she only nods, walking him towards the door. When they reach it, Castiel stops and glances at her. There was no fear in Anna's memories. Even when she flew into the fire to scoop Dean and Sam off the floor into her arms, even when she felt Mary's anguish and John's despair. He realizes he's never really seen her afraid. Not in all the countless times she left to save a human's life. Not when their many brothers left on their own dangerous tasks. Yet, she fears now and Castiel thinks he knows why. He remembers how Dean had scoffed at Castiel for keeping quiet for so long. He remembers how Dean says that families don't treat each other like outcasts.

He remembers how Anna never did.

"Anna? Would you have told me all this if you weren't my mother?"

Instead of the surprise he expects, Anna only gives him a slight smile and leans up to return his kiss to the cheek. The scent of sweet lilies wafts around him.

"Stay safe, beloved," she murmurs and then she opens the door, leaving Castiel with the tips of his fingers pressed against his face.

***********************

 

"Tell me what he said again," Dean demands.

"God, seriously, Dean, it's not changed since the last time. Or the five times before that, I swear. He said he would be back, okay? Please sit down and please, for the love of all that's holy, please shut the hell up," Sam says, pinching the bridge of his nose between the forefinger and thumb of one hand.

"Fuck you," Dean says, but he's not really angry at Sam. He's not really angry at all. Well, okay, he's pissed as all get out at Castiel for ditching him without warning. And he'll totally kick Castiel's ass when he gets back. It’s just, he has to _get back_. Dean doesn't like the things Sam told him Castiel had said. Asking about Y.E.D. and Mom and getting dates. Going to search for something. But Castiel said that would get him in trouble. Dean doesn't know what punishment angels give each other for breaking rules, but knowing them, it can't be good.

Dean does _not_ want Castiel getting punished because of him.

Sure, it'd be nice to have some information about Y.E.D., but it's not worth Castiel getting hurt over. It's not his damned job anyway. His job is to find someone willing to put up with Dean's bullshit. It's Dean's job to find Y.E.D. Just because he sucks at it doesn't mean Castiel should suffer.

"Thanks," Sam answers a moment later, almost as an afterthought. He is pressed into his sofa, head lax against the back cushion and he is watching Dean pace a dark line into the thick blue carpet in his living room. Dean has no idea what time it is, but it's gotta be after midnight by now. Which means he's been pacing around Sam's house for nearly four hours. Ever since Sam walked into the kitchen with a dazed expression and told Dean that Castiel had gone to get himself into trouble. Sam had hung with him the entire time and technically Jess had too, though she finally fell asleep and is currently snoring lightly, her head in Sam's lap.

"Did he say-?"

"I will kill you, Dean," Sam interrupts idly.

"Bitch," Dean says.

"Jerk," Sam answers on cue.

Another circuit of the room, Dean's thoughts whirling. Honestly, this is insane. Castiel's a damned angel. They can take care of themselves. Or at least they should be able to take care of themselves. And it's not like Castiel is a weakling or anything. Just he seems so fucking _trusting_. Maybe Dean's wrong about all angels being dicks, but he maintains that they aren't a nice race of beings. The way they treat Castiel makes Dean's blood boil. He'd just feel better if Castiel were back on Earth where Dean could keep an eye on the guy.

"Dean, maybe we should-"

But what they should do, Dean never hears because he is too busy smashing hard into Castiel.

"The fuck!" Dean yelps, throwing himself back, nearly off his feet. Castiel reaches out and grabs his elbows, steadying him.

"Are you alright?" Castiel asks.

"Yes, damn it, watch where you land, will you?" Dean isn't sure how much of his bluster is his surprise at Castiel's arrival and how much is due to the hot zing of desire that races through his veins when their bodies press against each other. He's going to pretend he doesn't care.

"What happened?" He asks instead because there's no pretending he doesn't care about that.

"I have the name and address of the Y.E.D.," Castiel informs him simply. Easy as pie. The information handed to him on a silver platter and all it took was God only knows what kind of punishment for Castiel.

"Are you serious?" Sam edges out from under Jess and stands, eyes burning fever bright. "Dean, he's...did you hear that?"

"Yeah, I heard it," Dean snaps and he crosses his arms over his chest. "And what did it cost to get it, huh? What'd you have to do?"

Castiel is frowning at him. "I...I thought you'd be happy..."

"I'll be happy when you tell me what the hell happened," Dean growls. He senses Sam's gaze on his face and Dean knows if he looked at him now, he'd see incredulity in his brother's eyes. And yeah, he wants to know what Castiel found out. God, does he ever want to know. But this is more important.

"I found the request in the Great Repository-"

"You snuck into the library thing? Shit, Cas, you said that was against the Prime Directive or something," Dean says and he's seldom heard himself sounding so worried. It must be Cas' angel mojo. He's hypnotized Dean somehow.

"I...it's..." Clearly, Castiel is not one hundred percent on the same page as Dean. "I'm not in trouble, Dean," he says, cutting through his own confusion to the heart of the matter. "Michael knows what I did and he approves."

"Oh." The wind goes out of Dean's indignation sails.

"I've spoken with the angel who carried out your mother's request-"

"You found her?" Dean interrupts again, his stomach tightening. Now that he knows Cas has permission for all this, Dean's worries turn to the case. He never truly thought he'd ever hear anything about the red-haired angel again. Beside him, Sam draws a sharp breath. They exchange a look, the kind he only ever sees on Sam's face, the one that says you are looking at one of the only people in the world who can really know what you feel because they are in the exact same situation.

"Yes," Cas says. "It was Anna."

"Your mom?" Sam blurts, flabbergasted.

"Yes," Cas says again.

"Your mom," Dean repeats. The knot growing in his stomach draws even tighter, making him feel sick and dizzy. "Your mom and...and my mom..."

Suddenly Castiel is in his face, so close Dean can feel Cas' breath puffing against his mouth. Castiel's freaky strong fingers clamp around Dean's shoulders, probably leaving bruises in the shape of his hand prints and he shakes Dean a little.

"Anna saved your life. Yours and Sam's and your father's. You have to stop blaming her for the evil Y.E.D. visited on your family," he commands, jaw set and eyes flashing. Dean's never seen him like this before, so cold and distant. So harsh. Like a real angel. And yet, despite his severe expression and painful grip, Dean feels something inside him ease. Castiel wouldn't act like this if he didn't care about his own mom. Dean can't fault the guy for that.

"Cas," Dean says, unsure how to promise that he'll try. He thinks Cas might understand anyway because his fingers loosen and the long feather at the end of Castiel's left wing presses gently against Dean's cheek.

"Think of it later," he says. "Now we have to find your mother's killer. His name is Adam Zazel and he lives only a few short moments from this place."

Dean's mind races. Adam Zazel. The name is not familiar. In all those years of hunting for him, Dean never once heard the name or anything like it. And he would probably never have heard anything if not for the angel standing in front of him. Like with many dozens of other unsolved serial murder cases, this guy would have walked free.

"I'll call Victor," Dean says because it’s too immense to think of how much he owes Castiel. He's pacing again, thinking out loud. "Get some back-up. Rufus and Jo, I think."

"And me," Castiel says, stopping Dean in his tracks.

"What are you talking about?" Dean asks blankly.

"I'm coming with you."

"Like hell you are!" Dean pokes Castiel in his chest. "I'm not going to go crazy worrying about you tripping on your wings when I go up against this guy."

Castiel's eyes narrow at the mention of his wings and said wings twitch angrily against his back. That subtle angelic energy Castiel keeps hidden swells up, making him seem bigger than normal, taller and stronger and generally someone who could beat the shit out of Dean if he wanted.

"I can take care of myself, Dean Winchester," Castiel growls and it's not appropriate at all, but Dean can't help the pulse of desire at the gravel in Castiel's voice. "I won't let you confront this monster alone."

It's not an argument. Dean knows this. But he's also himself and arguing is one of Dean's strong suits.

"I won't be alone," he says. "There'll be-"

"Dean," Sam cuts in, grabbing Dean's elbow and turning him. "Just shut up, okay? You gotta take Cas with you or _I'll_ go crazy. He can watch out for you."

"You also said he'd find me a soul-mate! Look how that's turned out!"

He instantly regrets his words, but says nothing, only stares defiantly at Sam, who rolls his eyes at him.

"It's not Castiel's fault you're too annoying to love," Sam countered. "But seriously, if you don't let him protect you, then I'm coming too."

"What the hell?"

"Someone has to watch out for you and I trust Cas. So it's either him or me," Sam says, lifting his chin and staring down his nose at Dean. It's not fair. Sam knows Dean would never risk him. Especially since Sam doesn't have any special training. He's got the physical strength to hold his own in a fight, but Sam's not been taught how to handle criminals. His presence there really could get them all killed.

"You may as well choose me because I'm coming either way," Castiel interjects. He sounds and looks calm, but his wings are stiff as boards and closed around his shoulders. Dean's going to have to kiss some serious ass after this is over. Damn his stupid mouth. Dean's always says something shitty when he's freaked.

He glances from Sam's determination to Castiel's confidence.

"Fuck," Dean mutters. "Come on then," he says to Castiel.

Cas watches Dean snap his jacket up from Sam's couch and shrug into it. They meet at the doorway, but before they can leave, Sam is tugging on Castiel's coat sleeve, halting their progress.

"You bring both yourselves back here, okay? I'll change my request to that if I have to. Just make sure Dean stays safe," he says and then Sam immediately turns to Dean, pinning him with the most intense look he's ever seen on Sam's face before. Tension lines his body and in his posture, Dean can see Sam's years of waiting on his brother and father to come home, his years of worry and learning the best way he could to stop evil sons of bitches, with words instead of action.

"You get him," Sam says and then he becomes too choked to continue. Dean lays a hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezes it and nods, his throat suddenly tight and throbbing.

"I will, Sammy."

Then he turns and leads Castiel out into the night.


	7. Chapter 7

His home is a run-down old two-story farmhouse on the outskirts of town.

Dean parks the Impala down the street from the house, out of the view, hidden behind a line of short Japanese maples. He and Cas are joined a moment later by Victor, Rufus and Jo and they discuss their plan one last time. It's simple really. Dean and Castiel are going through the front door while the others take the side and back exits. Hopefully, if Zazel is home, one of them will reach him and be able to count on four others to be circled around him. Dean sincerely hopes Zazel is near the front door. He's been looking forward to confronting this bastard for years.

"Let's go," Dean whispers to Cas as the others disperse, melting to the shadows built up around the house. He draws his gun, his trusty Colt and glances at Cas. "You ready?"

"Indeed."

They begin walking. The silence of night presses against them. Dean can't even hear crickets or frogs. That must be his imagination. The magnitude of this moment and not actually the animals falling quiet in anticipation. Near the front of the yard, they pass a huge metal mailbox with the name A.ZAZEL printed along the top. Dean still can't believe they missed this guy for so long. This man who Castiel tells him is a janitor at a local school. One of the invisible people, Dean thinks. Those people whose jobs or income make others ignore them completely. It gives them the ability to go unnoticed.

The stairs of Zazel's front stoop creak woefully under Dean's boot. He winces and lifts his foot. Before he can change tactics, he feels Castiel's arms circle his waist and then he's in the air. Not far off the ground, just enough to float over the stairs and up to the front door. Those big powerful wings flex on either side of his body, silent and beautiful and Dean thinks that this is the first time in his life he's ever enjoyed flying. Castiel deposits him on the front mat and glides to a quiet landing beside him.

"Thanks," Dean whispers. He ducks down and pulls out what he calls his 'breaking and entering' kit. It’d taken a little bit of time to procure a search warrant, but not as long as it might have because of the cases’ fame in the area. Everyone wants to see Y.E.D. caught. And besides, angel confirmation is more than enough to secure probable cause.

Once he gets the door unlocked, he pauses, waiting the ten minutes they agreed on. Once it's up, Dean trusts everyone is in place.

He carefully turns the handle and slowly eases the door open. Castiel crowds close and the only reason they don't go through the door at the same time is because it's not big enough. Once they are inside, a strong musty scent wafting over them, Cas moves back to his side. They walk further into the house as equals, though Dean is the only one with a gun. Cas had refused to carry one, citing his inexperience as likely to cause more problems than help.

The front foyer quickly ends in favor of a set of stairs and a door opening to the right. Everything looks gray and dusty. Dead and abandoned. Dean feels his heart sink. It looks like Anna's information may be out of date. Still, Dean gestures for Castiel to stay behind him before he clears the room through the door. Cas flattens himself against the wall and nods. His wings are stiller than Dean's ever seen them. He glances back and despite the situation, smiles when he sees the trail Cas' wings have made through the dust on the floor.

Dean flips around the edge of the door, gun pointed outwards. He nearly drops the gun at what he sees.

Zazel is sitting in a reading chair and he is facing away from the door. Dean hears the rustle of pages as Zazel browses through a book, apparently at ease. He waits a moment, unsure if Zazel hasn't heard them or just doesn't care if he's heard them. Considering this is a man who slaughtered at least ten women, Dean wouldn't be at all surprised if he just didn't care.

The press of feathers against his back draws his attention to Castiel, who frowns at him. As best he can, Dean signals that Cas should stay behind Zazel while Dean circles to the front of the chair. Dean can tell Cas doesn't like that plan, but Dean's the one with the gun. Plus, there's another door on the other side of this sitting room. It probably leads out to the back where Victor or Jo is exploring. Once they hear voices, they'll come to back Dean up.

Dean gets all the way around the chair before Zazel speaks. Cas mostly paid attention to Dean's orders, but he's crept up further than Dean would like and is also facing Zazel. Further away from him than Dean, but close enough to make Dean's stomach twist into a knot.

"Heard you come in," Zazel suddenly says, finally lifting his eyes from what turns out to be an old copy of National Geographic. His long face is covered in a wiry beard and his eyes are pale and watery. Dean can't place the color, but he can easily see how Dad could mistake them for yellow in the red-gold of a fire.

That's when it really hits Dean, full on in the chest, in the heart. This is _him._. The yellow-eyed demon. The man who killed his mother and destroyed his father. A torrent of blistering anger pulses through his stomach and Dean lifts the gun, cocking it. He sees Cas move again, stepping closer, probably alarmed by the livid expression on Dean's face.

"Sorry we didn't knock, but when you're a murdering son of a bitch, cops tend to forget their manners," Dean says, though he's not even really sure what he's saying. It's taking every inch of his self-restraint not to empty his gun into Zazel's chest.

"A cop? Hmm." Zazel tosses the magazine aside and smiles at Dean. "Are you one of my kids?"

His tone is pleasant, even fond and it makes Dean feel like throwing up. He has no idea what Zazel means, but it doesn't stop him from wanting to rip that fond look off his ugly face.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Dean growls.

"The kids I saved," Zazel explains and then malice climbs into his expression, turning his countenance into something more like the evil bastard Dean expected. "Saved from their lying cheating mothers."

Dean sees red. Both hands gripping the gun, a step forward and Dean knows he's shouting, too loud, too emotional, but he can't help himself. Zazel's just sitting there, safe and sound, talking about Dean's mother, _daring to talk about his mother_.

"Her name was Mary," he snarls. "My father was John. You killed them both, you sick fuck."

"Oh," Zazel breathes, the fondness back on his face. "Mary, yes. I remember her. She was my first. So lovely. Such pretty blond hair. Just like my dear sweet Ruby."

The way he says the name 'Ruby', the way it’s twisted with revulsion, tells Dean that Zazel seriously loathes whoever she is. Dean begins to get an inkling that this issue is a lot deeper than an evil bastard randomly killing women.

"You were hurt," Castiel says suddenly, startling Dean into jerking his head to the side. Cas hasn't moved from his position and he's staring hard at Zazel, staring deep, under the surface. Dean wants to yell, to tell Cas it doesn't matter what happened to Zazel, that nothing excuses what he's done. But he knows Cas is just trying to figure out what happened and that Dean should be doing the same. His hands tremble, the desire to kick and hit and shoot so strong.

"Someone hurt you," Cas continues and Dean manages to keep himself still.

"She took them," Zazel spits, his face contorting with hatred. "They were ours. Mine. My kids. She disappeared with them and she deserved to die."

Understanding hits Dean hard and he nearly buckles under the weight of it. Zazel and this Ruby woman must have had a couple of kids and then Ruby realized she'd hooked up with a crazy bastard. She took the kids away, leaving Zazel with a desire for revenge. And since he couldn't get it with Ruby, he found it with innocent strangers, young mothers who for whatever reason reminded Zazel of his long lost Ruby.

"You're insane," Dean says faintly and it's the wrong thing to say. Faster than Dean can really follow, Zazel is standing and there's a gun in his hand. His speed is startling, a hint of how he escaped their notice for so long.

"I'm not," he snaps. Any shred of calm Zazel might have felt is gone and in its place is a rage so strong that Zazel shakes with it. His eyes darken and Dean sees now there are bright gold rings circling his pupils. Cas moves a step closer. The gun swivels towards him, stopping him in his tracks. Fear crowds Dean's throat.

"Goddammit, Cas," he murmurs. "Stay where you are."

Zazel doesn't seem to hear Dean. He cocks the gun. Cas' eyes widen and he swallows hard.

"I'm not crazy. I helped you, don't you see?" Zazel says, words meant for Dean, but his eyes examining Cas from head to foot. The way his gaze lingers on Castiel, heavy and calculating, turns Dean's stomach. He's just about enough of this asshole. Keeping his gun firmly in place, Dean backs up a few inches, just enough to look past Castiel's head. A small motion catches his eye and he realizes with a jolt of relief that it's Victor trying to get his attention. A few hand signals later, Dean understands that Victor and Jo are standing on either side of the door, guns ready for Dean's sign. Now all Dean has to do is get Castiel out of the way without Zazel losing it and shooting up the room. He knew it was a bad idea to bring Cas in here. When Cas said he could take care of himself, Dean kind of thought Cas would be moving shit around with his mind and maybe pinning the bad guy to the wall or something. Instead, he is staring at the gun in Zazel's hand, his wings twitching nervously on his back.

"I see," Castiel answers. "Ruby took your life from you."

"Yes," Zazel answers triumphantly. All his attention turns to fix on Castiel. The one who seems to be taking him seriously. "I just wanted to help before she did it again," he says. Dean shivers, his stomach hurting. Zazel doesn't even seem to see the difference between Ruby and his other victims.

"Just like you," Zazel says to Castiel. "I was their angel."

Dean's trying to motion to Castiel, trying to get him to move back a couple of steps out of the line of fire, but Zazel sees the movement and the gun's back in his face.

"You needed an angel. I heard your father begging and crying and she didn't help," Zazel says, sneering. "I prayed and prayed and they never came to help me. I had to do it myself. Didn't have angels watching out for me."

"Yeah, that's cause no angel would help you murder innocent mothers," Dean snaps. He's hoping to get Zazel's entire attention on him, away from Cas, giving Cas the opportunity to move out of the way of the door. Dean tries to signal Castiel in the right direction, but instead of moving away, Cas moves closer, exactly in front of the door, blocking Victor and Jo. Dean clenches his teeth. Stupid angel.

"They weren't innocent," Zazel snaps.

"Put the gun down, Adam," Cas says gently, holding out a hand. "We aren't here to hurt you."

"Don't talk to me."

Zazel moves the gun back on Castiel and he suddenly seems angry with him, as if talking about angels has reminded Zazel how they abandoned him. Dean hates that they could ever share an emotion, that he could be as irrational as the maniac standing in front of him.

"You wouldn't help me. I _needed_ you and you wouldn't come. You could have helped me find Ruby," Zazel growls and when he starts advancing on Castiel, Dean feels his heart leap into his throat. There's no time left. Without thinking even a little, Dean calls to Zazel and falls forward a step.

"Get the fuck away from him," he grounds out.

It all happens so fast.

Zazel's gun snaps back to Dean, aimed for his heart and Dean knows he's going to shoot. The wildness in Zazel's colorless eyes resolves into quiet determination. His run is over. He's going out with a bang and he's taking Dean with him. Even if Dean shoots now, he won’t be fast enough. He feels a blast of regret, wishes he had time to say goodbye to Sam and to Cas. Wishes for time to apologize to Cas for being a dick and ruining his first job.

Then there's a shot. The blunt sound of a bullet piercing flesh and time stands still.

Dean feels nothing.

Castiel's wing, his rebellious left wing, is stretched wide, covering Dean's chest and there is blood dripping from it, hitting the floor in thick wet splashes. Cas hasn't moved an inch. His head is lowered, his expression resolute. No doubt in his actions. Shock numbs Dean's mind, but not enough to stop him from realizing that if Castiel's wings had been even six inches shorter, Dean would have been killed instantly.

"Cas," he whispers and then suddenly, time speeds up. Victor and Jo pour into the room, flowing around Dean and Castiel, shooting at Zazel. Dean hears Zazel go down, but he doesn't care. It doesn't matter anymore. Zazel doesn't matter anymore. The only thing that matters is that Castiel has fallen to one knee, his face twisted with pain.

"Oh my god, Cas!" Dean skids to his side, catching Cas as he falls back, his wing bent at an awkward angle. Blood, darker red than human blood, pours continuously from the wound in the furthest tip of Castiel's wing, the last bit of flesh before it becomes only feathers. The beautiful wing is twisted and ruined. Dean gathers Cas against his chest, scared by how pale his face already looks.

"Knew..." Castiel’s words halt for a ragged pant. "Knew there was...reason I…had such big wings."

"Don’t say that! Shit, shit. Why's there so much blood?" Dean presses against the wound, trying to stop the flow. Cas moans low in throat and it kills Dean, but he doesn't stop. This can't happen to him. Not again. He can't lose another person he loves like this.

"The artery," Cas says, but Dean shushes him. He gets it anyway. The bullet must have nicked the main blood vessel in his wing and now his precious life force is flowing out on the floor. Behind him, Dean hears Victor calling for an ambulance, but he doesn't think it'll be fast enough. So he does the only thing he can think of.

He prays.

 _Please don't let him die. Please, God. Please do this for me._

In his arms, Castiel suddenly relaxes and his eyes fall shut. Panic wells up in Dean. Panic and anger and fuck, he just found Castiel and now he's going to lose him. He pulls him closer, pressing their foreheads together.

"Please, Cas," he murmurs. "Please don't leave me. I need you."

Silence. The body he holds is still. Void of breath and life and if this is what love feels like, the angels can keep it.

The minutes tick by.

Castiel gasps.

Gasps for air and it's the most blessed sound Dean's ever heard. He struggles in Dean's grip, straightening himself and peering around wildly until his eyes land on Dean. It's not until that moment that Dean realizes Cas' wing isn't bleeding any more. In fact, he doesn't see any blood. The wing is back to its original shape, his black shining feathers healthy once again.

"What...what the hell?"

Castiel flexes his shoulder with a grimace.

"That hurt," he says breathlessly. "It's much harder to do that in real life than in class."

"Class? What the fuck are you talking about?" Dean demands, his fear making him angry. "I thought you were...fuck, Cas, you looked dead!"

"Dead? Oh no!" Cas scrambles to his knees and faces Dean. "No, I was trying to heal myself. I've never done it before, not in reality. Most angels can do it without the trance." He looks rather chagrinned. "I need some practice, it seems."

“You…you fucking jerk!” Dean yells and he punches out at Castiel’s chest, too scared and angry to think clearly. Castiel lets Dean thrash against him for a minute before catching his hands and holding them tight against his chest.

“Dean,” he says quietly. “It’s okay now. I’m fine.”

It’s more Castiel’s gentle tone than his words that penetrate Dean’s mind and the tension suddenly drains out of his body, leaving him feeling exhausted.

"You...you're really okay?"

"Yes, Dean. I promise, I'm well," Castiel says, releasing his grip enough that Dean can sit back and look at him. Behind him, Dean hears Victor walk across the room, speaking low into his phone and Dean knows how it must look to his colleagues. He knows they can hear how wrecked he sounds. He just doesn't care. For once in his life, Dean doesn't give a fuck who sees him being emotional.

"There was a lot of blood," he says helplessly. Castiel nods, but doesn't speak. Instead, he takes Dean's hand and presses it against his left wing, letting Dean feel for himself. Castiel's feathers are soft and dry. The flesh beneath is whole. Warm and strong and uninjured. Some of Dean's panic seeps out of his chest and he begins to stroke the feathers.

"Don't do that anymore," Dean says as Castiel shudders at his touch.

"Do what?" Cas asks shakily.

"Scare me like that. I can't take it."

"I'm sorry I frightened you." The wing Dean isn't busy fondling sweeps up off the floor and Dean feels the soft caress of a feather against his cheek. "I'm not sorry I saved you. Never that."

Dean keeps his eyes on Castiel's wing feathers. If he looks up now, he's liable to say or do something crazy and overwrought. He doesn't want to make Castiel uncomfortable, so he just hits Cas lightly in the shoulders and growls what he can get passed his closed off throat.

"Fucking idiot of an angel," is what comes out, but it makes Castiel puff a short laugh and that's good enough for Dean.

"Dean?"

He looks up into Jo's face, her concerned eyes.

"Yeah?"

"The others are almost here," she says and gestures vaguely, obviously hoping Dean will get the idea that if he doesn't want the whole department to see him sloshing emotion all over the room, then he better pull himself the hell together. Cas pushes to his feet and holds out a hand, lifting Dean with ease, demonstrating his overwhelming strength.

"Where was all that brawn earlier?" Dean asks, reaching over to fix Castiel's collar. When Jo makes a strangled noise in her throat, probably an aborted laugh, Dean scowls and snatches his hands back. "Could have been useful before he pumped you full of lead."

"I wanted to give him a chance to surrender himself," Castiel says placidly. “Besides, one of us had to remain calm.”

Dean scowls at him.

"Next time, just knock the bastard out," Dean says, even though he knows there won't be a next time. No matter how much he doesn't want to think about it, Castiel isn't just another human. He isn't going to stick around to drive Dean crazy. In fact, their seven days are almost up.

"It's over," Castiel says, his eyes on the ground where Zazel lays, the light gone out of those horrible eyes.

"Yeah," Dean agrees. People always told him he should expect to feel empty if he ever found Y.E.D. That if his life's work was ever completed, he wouldn't necessarily feel good things. Those people were wrong. All Dean feels as he looks down at the limp empty body of Adam Zazel is relief.

"C'mon, Cas," Dean mutters. He hooks his index finger around Castiel's thumb and tugs him towards the door.

Castiel is right. It's finally over.

Now he can rest.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean insists Castiel get checked out 'just in case.'

"You said you never did that healing crap before. Supposing you did something wrong and you're bleeding internally? Your wing'll fall off."

It's hard to argue with something like that. However, Castiel draws the line at visiting the human hospital. He very much doubts they have any experience with wing healthcare. So instead, Castiel returns to Heaven, after promising Dean he'll come back to him as soon as possible. It will have to be a quick trip home. Castiel only has six Earth hours left before his time is up. But he feels confident that he'll find Dean's soul-mate in that time. Now that Dean's heart and mind is clear of the shadow of Adam Zazel, Castiel knows he'll be able to move on.

The healthcare center is in the heart of the Silver City. The nurse on duty, a sprightly young male angel named Ionel, teases Castiel about his injury. It's Ionel's way of expressing his joy that Castiel finally had the opportunity to be hurt on a human's behalf. Castiel couldn't agree more. He doesn't like to imagine how it would have ended if he hadn't been there to protect Dean.

Just as Ionel finishes confirming that Castiel successfully healed himself, Anna darts into the room. He only has a moment's notice, a flash of red and white before she's thrown her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

"Castiel! I sensed you return, but you came straight here. Are you alright?"

"Yes," Castiel says, his voice muffled against her hair. She pulls back and her grace shoots around and through him, checking for injury.

"What happened?"

Castiel quickly explains the situation. His tone is both proud and shy as he describes instinctively throwing out his wing to protect Dean from Zazel's bullet. Anna covers her mouth with one hand, eyes wide and amazed.

"Castiel," she breathes, patting his shoulder and wings. Her touch brings a sense of safety and warm familiarity, so different from the scary and thrilling heat that Dean's fingers awaken within him. He leans into the touch and sighs.

"I'm fine, Anna," he says. "Dean is fine. I'm returning to him to finish my job."

"Your job?" She sounds genuinely confused. "But I thought...?"

"What?"

Anna's eyebrows draw together over her expressive green eyes. She hesitates, rubbing a finger along her bottom lip like she does when she feels very confused.

"You broke the rules for him," she says slowly. "What I felt in you...I thought you'd chosen..."

When she didn't explain further, Castiel sighed again, this time in frustration.

"Anna, I have no idea what you mean."

"You don't, do you?" She sounds surprised and maybe even a little annoyed. "I've spent the last day coming to terms with what you'd decided to do and you don't have any clue what I'm talking about!"

"What did you think I'd decided to do?"

Honestly, Castiel couldn't be more lost. The only thing he ever wanted out of this job was to make sure Dean was happy and safe. He might have bent a few rules, but his goal was never anything less than doing his job well. Surely Anna couldn't see a problem with that objective.

"Oh Castiel." Anna smiles, soft and amused. "My poor child. When you figure it out, I just want you to know that I understand. I truly do."

"What?" Now Castiel is beginning to feel annoyed. He's sick to death of being out of the loop. But he can tell by Anna's expression that she would rather he figure it out on his own. So he isn't surprised when she stands and squeezes his shoulder.

"Good luck," she says before leaving.

Castiel stews quietly for a few moments, but time's scarce, so he decides to ponder her odd behavior later, after he's taken care of Dean. It's easy now finding Dean's home from the launch pad. Castiel closes his eyes in Heaven and reopens them a second later in Dean's living room. Dean jumps up from his couch and crowds close, reaching out with possessive fingers to search through Castiel's feathers. That heat, that insistent delicious heat, returns full force and Castiel hears himself emit a soft moan.

"You good?" Dean asks quietly.

"Hmmm," Castiel answers. He sways into Dean's space, drawn like a magnet.

"Sounds like it," Dean says. Happiness streaks through his tone and it's a glorious sound. Now if only Castiel could find a person who makes Dean sound like that all the time, his job will be done.

"Come." Castiel holds out his hand expectedly. Dean frowns, but does release Castiel's wing and takes Castiel's hand.

"Where we going?"

Before he answers, Castiel shifts, taking them both away from Dean's apartment and into a crowded street in downtown Lawrence. Dean jumps and squishes himself against Castiel in apparent fright.

"Holy shit, Cas! Warn a guy before you do that!"

"Forgive me," Castiel says, amused. "I thought this would be a good place to start."

"Start what?" Dean is giving him a suspicious look, which Castiel doesn't understand. He can't imagine what else Dean thinks they could be doing.

"Future-seeking."

"Oh."

His tone is oddly flat. Not at all excited. Castiel remembers the things Dean said before they left to confront Zazel and he feels a flush of shame.

"I know I haven't been doing this very well-"

"Oh no, you’ve been doing a real good job," Dean says forcefully, his sincerity impossible to disbelieve. "Whatever I said before, just forget that. I was just being a jerk because...well, I am jerk. No, seriously, I am," he says overtop of Castiel's protest. "So don't worry. You're doing a fucking fantastic job at this whole soul-mate business."

Castiel stares at him. He senses only truth in Dean, but for some reason, Dean sounds very unhappy. Even a bit angry and this is one of those times when sensing emotions doesn't do any good because Castiel still doesn't understand what they mean.

"Oh, I see," he says, though he doesn't. "What don't we start there?"

They find seats in a small sandwich shop that Dean frequents. Castiel instructs Dean to look around the patrons and when Dean's eyes fall onto a young man with black hair and a soft smile, his aura pulses with faint sexual attraction. It makes Castiel shift uncomfortably, but he ignores the feeling and gives Dean an encouraging grin. With a quick deep breath to steady himself, Castiel pulls the future sense towards him, threading it around the two souls in question and pries into their future.

There is nothing. No discussion. No dating. Not even the merest hint of love. Castiel frowns.

"Well?"

"I'm...I think we should choose another person," Castiel says. Dean shrugs and nods towards a buxom woman in a tight skirt and sleeveless shirt. Again, the sexual attraction is present, but weak, like Dean can't get the energy together to feel much for her at all. Hardly promising, but it's all Castiel has to work with.

He future-seeks and discovers the same empty future. All he sees is Dean alone. Smiling with his family, but alone in his house and there is a sadness about him. Just before Castiel pulls away, he senses it. The merest hint, but enough to make Castiel's heart twist in his chest.

That future Dean is living in his past.

Still in the past, unable to move forward. His stomach drops and somehow Castiel knows that no matter how many people he future-seeks with Dean, he'll see the same thing. He concentrated so hard on resolving Dean's issues with Zazel that he completely missed the real reason Dean can't move on.

"What's wrong?" Dean asks, watching Castiel closely.

"I...I don't know," Castiel admits. His eyes snap open, away from the future sense. This won't do. He has to keep trying.

"Let's try somewhere else," he says and he tugs Dean out of his seat.

The next few hours are frustrating. They travel all over the city of Lawrence, back through Dean's old haunts. Human after human, male and female, handsome and not, old and young, it doesn't matter; they all pass through Castiel's future sense without showing anything other than Dean alone. Castiel finds himself future-seeking with humans he's already checked, just in case he was wrong. He isn't.

"Dude, let's just go home," Dean finally says, his expression resolved. Castiel doesn't like it.

"I still have a few minutes," he says, but Dean shakes his head.

"Come on, man. It's been the same damned thing for the past four hours. I'm sick of it. I just want to go home."

Castiel can't refuse him. Not after failing him so spectacularly. He takes Dean's hand and opens his wings, transporting them back into Dean's apartment.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel says softly, dropping his hand. "I'm so very sorry."

"It's okay," Dean says, shrugging and he actually sounds like he means it. "You tried as hard as you could. I mean, fuck, you went above and beyond with Zazel."

Castiel doesn't know what to say. But Dean fills the silence admirably.

"Are you going to get in trouble? I mean, it's not your fault, but are they going to punish you?" Dean asks worriedly. His eyes are wide and concerned. So very beautiful. It pains Castiel that all this beauty will go unappreciated.

"I don't know," Castiel answers past the lump in his throat. "I've never heard of an angel failing a request before."

In general, Castiel doesn't too much mind being different. But he'd hoped not to be different in this way as well.

"Come to think of it, what do angels get for a job well done anyway?" Castiel can tell by Dean's brighter tone that this line of conversation is Dean's way of lightening the discussion. "Do you people get paid?"

"Not in money. Most of the time, requesters send a prayer of gratitude. I've heard the feeling can be overwhelming," Castiel says. He'd been so looking forward to his first gratitude prayer. Uriel says they are sweeter than honey, like being bathed in sunlight. Coming from Dean, Castiel imagines the feeling would be even more intense.

"You never got one? Not once?" Dean asks, shocked.

"I've felt a distant echo from prayers that express gratitude towards angels as a group," Castiel explains. In his discomfort, he finds himself gathering his left wing into one arm and holding it close. It helps him feel steadier. "I've been told it's not quite the same thing."

"Well, hang on," Dean says and he shuts his eyes, his lips moving silently.

"What are you doing?" Castiel asks curiously.

"Praying. Shut up."

A moment later, his grace is wrapped in an emotion so strong and so vast that Castiel actually stumbles under the weight of it. It's welcoming and familiar and Castiel feels both safe and loved. But it’s more than that. There is gratitude, yes, but underneath, Castiel senses affection more profound than he's ever imagined. He is claimed by it, held close and adored by it. This feeling does not exist anywhere else in his life, not with Anna, not even with Michael.

"Dean," he murmurs, overwhelmed and reaching out blindly. Dean catches his hands and tugs him into a full-bodied hug. His wings close around Dean's shoulders the way he's wanted to do almost from their very first meeting. This near to him, Castiel can feel Dean's heart pounding against his chest and he smells leather and sweet grass, Dean's own particular scent. He presses his nose into Dean's neck and slips his arms around Dean's waist, holding him tight. He is surrounded and surrounding and suddenly thousands of years seems like nothing to wait for a feeling like this.

"Just thought I'd say thanks," Dean says, lips brushing against Castiel's ear. "Least I could do."

"But I didn't-"

"You saved me, Cas," Dean interrupts and he pulls him in closer, tighter, seems like he's trying to climb inside Castiel. "You deserve it and you know, when you go...after you go, I'll keep saying 'em,” A puff of melancholy laughter presses warmth against the sensitive skin just under Castiel’s ear.

“Just so you won’t forget me.”

"I won't," Castiel promises him. "I could never."

There's a tug at his grace, a light pressure of warning. Castiel's heart squeezes.

"Dean." He doesn't want to speak or leave or answer the call. But it's time to face Michael. "I'm being called home."

Dean nods against his hair and then, to Castiel's astonishment, he presses a kiss into Castiel's temple. The warmth he always feels at Dean's touch, that peculiar heat Castiel knows he'll miss, explodes across his senses, stronger than ever before. It's staggering and impossible and Castiel doesn't know how he'll live without it.

"Be careful," Dean grunts. He squeezes Castiel's shoulder. "And if you get into too much trouble, you can hide out at my place."

It's meant to be a joke, but Castiel doesn't laugh. Instead, he trails his gaze across Dean's face, over his freckled nose and his clever mouth and everything he sees in those green eyes.

"Thank you, Dean," he says. His silly protective left wing folds up, rests against Dean's neck, a simple caress and then Castiel shifts into flight, shooting away before he can think of yet another reason to stay.


	9. Chapter 9

_Four Days Later_

Sam was right. Dean is the most pathetic person he's ever known.

Okay, yeah, it's a pretty shitty situation. Dean never really wanted to fall in love. Until it happened and then he realized it was pretty fucking awesome. Except when you fall in love with an angel and they go back to live in Heaven and help other humans. Stupid other humans who aren't you and don't know that said angel has certain needs. Like he needs some positive reinforcement and that you gotta let him fuss over you or he'll go a bit nuts. And that he needs someone to show him stupid human things like _Star Wars_ and astrology and food. God, all that pie they never ate. That's a serious regret for Dean.

So yeah, it sucks, but it's a Saturday night and Dean is laying on his sofa with a beer hanging limply from his hand while hours of _Dr. Sexy, M.D._ plays on the television. It's beyond sad and travelling into seriously fucking miserable. He's not left his apartment except to go to work, forcing a visit from Sam the previous day to make sure Dean hadn't drowned in his shower or something equally tragic.

He wonders idly what the recovery time is for unrequited angelic love. Or if there is a recovery to be had. Judging by Castiel's dismal future-seekings, Dean doesn't hold out much hope. He would say fuck it and give it a shot. Go out and find the next available fuck buddy. But the idea just makes him feel even shittier. It's stupidly romantic and Dean _seriously_ means stupid, but he just doesn't want someone that's not Castiel. He can't imagine trying to kiss someone who doesn't have big fucking flappy wings to hang onto.

His favorite time of the day is before he falls asleep when he says a short prayer of thanks for Castiel. It's not like Cas is answering him or anything, but Dean knows Cas is feeling it and that's enough to ease Dean into a peaceful sleep.

Speaking of bedtime and prayers, Dean thinks it's probably late enough to get into bed. Maybe he'll be less pathetic in the morning.

When he lifts himself off the sofa and turns towards his bed landing, there is a woman standing in front of his stairs. Dean yelps and drops the empty beer bottle, which falls to the carpet with a dull thunk.

"What the fuck!"

"Hello, Dean," she says and it's her voice does the trick.

"Holy shit, it's you," Dean says, recognition turning his knees to jelly. It's her. The red-haired angel. Anna. Castiel's mother. The angel who...the angel who saved his life, Dean thinks, remembering Castiel's terse reminder. And he's right. Dean knows that. But he can't help feeling an echo of his old anger. He hates himself for it.

"It's me," Anna confirms with a small smile. Dean's memory isn't entirely accurate in regards to Anna. Of course, he remembers looking up at her instead of the few inches down he's looking now. But he also remembers her as being cold and harsh. Yet what he sees now is a pleasant expression. A softness gentle on her pretty features. The wings are the same as he remembered. Pointed and severe. Too short for Dean's liking, but then he's got a real specific taste in wings.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to ask you what you're waiting for," she says simply.

"Um..." Dean twirls a finger. "Pretend I'm a dumb human for a minute here."

Anna laughs. "I was worried that your past issues with angels...well, with me were keeping you from acting on your feelings."

"How do you know I got 'feelings'?" Dean asks. Okay, Dean can be the bigger person here. He can admit that he was wrong about angels. But on this point, he was _not_ wrong. Angels really are presumptuous sons of bitches.

"Most people only offer thanks once, Dean. Not every night," Anna says with a knowing grin. Dean feels himself begin to blush.

"Oh. You know about that, huh? What is it, like on angel radio or something?"

Holy crap, it probably is. Every angel in Heaven probably knows that Dean's a lovesick idiot.

"No," Anna promises him. "Castiel told me. He's feeling very conflicted."

"Yeah? About what?"

Anna lowers her eyes at him.

"You both can't possibly be this ignorant," she says. "Please tell me you aren't."

Dean knows what she means. He's just finding it hard to believe. He's not that stupid, but angels don't feel like that. Cas said they don't. Of course, Cas also said that angels aren't supposed to break into big fucking libraries and steal requests. The thing is though, Dean's not that lucky. Oh absolutely, he's the type of person who falls in love with angels.

He’s _not_ the type that has them fall back.

"Um."

"So, what are your intentions towards my son?" But there's a grin on her face and Dean knows she's teasing him. He can't believe that either. So many years wasted with useless hatred for this angel, this angel who was one of the few beings in Castiel's life that made him feel good. It overwhelms Dean and he finds himself taking a step towards her.

"I'm sorry," he says thickly. "I shouldn't have...you saved me and Dad and Sammy. God, you saved _Sammy_. I should've thanked you."

Her expression changes, the humor transforming into deep sympathy.

"Please understand that I never wanted to leave your mother, Dean. But angels are given so much power. If we break the rules, chaos would reign on your planet. I didn't want to leave her, but...sometimes people die. I am very sorry," she says gently.

Two weeks ago, that speech would have pissed Dean off. Would have sent him on a tirade about how angels didn't deserve their power if they didn't use it to save people. But now Dean thinks he understands. Not completely, but enough to know he was wrong. But he can't say it. Not without his voice cracking, so he just nods. That hard knot that had been eased by Castiel's defense of Anna dissolves completely when she steps forward, closing the gap between them and lays her hand against his cheek, stroking a thumb over his jaw.

"I see why he likes you," she says quietly.

"I don't want him to get into trouble," Dean struggles to say. He knows that Anna is trying to steer him into somehow pursuing Castiel and fuck, does he ever want to do just that. But he doesn't want Castiel to be hurt or to lose his job or whatever the hell they do to angels that fall in love against the rules.

"I know you don't. That's why I came here. I was afraid for him myself. I...I understand what he's going through and I made the decision to remain in my post," she says and Dean hears the heartbreak in her tone. It never occurred to him that angels could hurt like that, just the same as humans.

He never thought he’d feel sympathy for the angel he’s hated all these years.

"But he's so unhappy, Dean. He misses you terribly and...I think his path is different. If you're worried we're going to lock him up or physically punish him, then you really do still have a bit more to learn about angels."

Her tone is light, but not her meaning. Dean feels chastised. Kind of scolded actually. The way a mom would. Which just makes him smile.

"Besides, all you can do is ask. It's up to Castiel to make his mind up about what he wants to do," Anna reminds him. "His life might change, but we would never cause him pain."

"Seriously? Like one hundred percent, he won't get hurt?" Dean asks, suddenly eager and actually trembling a little.

"One hundred percent," she says, grinning again.

Dean slams his eyes shut, biting his bottom lip.

"What are you doing?" Anna asks.

"Praying. Shut up."

*************************************

Michael doesn't say anything to Castiel for quite awhile that morning. They sit side by side in their usual places while they sort through requests. So familiar they are with each other's movements that they don't need any words to transact business. This suits Castiel just fine. He's not really in the mood to talk. Talking had been the activity of the previous night. Anna had confronted him about his sulky behavior and the two had stayed up all night talking about Dean and the way Castiel felt about him. Anna had seemed to think that talking might help ‘push things along a bit faster’. She’d been rather impatient, come to think of it, but since she’d still refused to spell it out for him, Castiel is just as lost this morning as he’s felt for the past four mornings.

"I think we need a break, brother," Michael says as he stamps an impression of his grace on the latest completed request. "And perhaps you can tell me why you're so quiet these days."

"I should think it was obvious," Castiel says as respectfully as possible.

"Well, perhaps, but I wanted to give you a chance to tell me. But if you prefer direct questioning, that's just as well," Michael says, giving Castiel the feeling he's in for a grueling interrogation. It's not possible to lie to Michael. If anyone could get Castiel to understand his plight, it would be Michael.

"You feel as if you've failed your first task," Michael says, tenting his long slender fingers against his narrow mouth. His sandy colored eyes search Castiel's face and his grace. There's no hiding, so Castiel doesn't bother.

"I did fail. I left Dean alone," he says bluntly.

"Yes, you did. And this is why you believe you failed." Michael removes his glasses and begins cleaning them on the front of his robe. "Because you did not finish the job."

"I was so certain Dean was being held back by his conflict with Adam Zazel and his unresolved grief over his parents' deaths," Castiel reports. "I did not give other avenues of investigation much thought and...I ran out of time."

"Hmm." Michael places the glasses back on his face and rubs at his chin. "Interesting. Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Castiel answers.

"How do you feel about Dean Winchester?"

It's a simple question, but not. Castiel loves Dean, of course. But it's more than that. Castiel loves all of humanity, but he _knows_ Dean. And he loves what he knows. He loves being near Dean. He loves how all of Dean's actions are fueled by beautiful reckless passion. He loves Dean's protectiveness and his loyalty. And by their Father, does Castiel ever love those sweet consuming prayers of gratitude, like secret love letters, that Dean sends him every night.

But Castiel doesn't know what it means or how to explain it to Michael. He remembers something Dean said to him while they talked of love and sex.

"Michael...have you...have you ever just felt like you _had_ to touch someone?" Castiel asks quietly.

"Only your mother," Michael says without hesitation.

"My...? But...are you saying...?" Castiel stares at Michael, at the encouraging nod Michael gives him and he can't breathe. It's just not possible. After all this time. Michael. First Angel. Castiel's best friend in Heaven.

His father?

"How come you never told me?" Castiel's voice wavers, his wings twist over one another and he wishes so hard that Dean were here to hold him steady.

"Oh, those rules," Michael says with a deep sigh. "We have too many rules, I think."

Castiel's thoughts are coming sluggishly. He'd only just gotten used to the fact that Anna actually was his mother. Now to find out that not only is Michael his father, but that he apparently carries some kind of deep affection for Anna. A fierce desire to understand everything strikes Castiel hard in the chest.

"Are you in love with her?"

"Yes," Michael says simply.

"Then why? Why aren't you together?"

"I chose...we chose to go our separate ways for the sake of our duty," Michael explains and for the first time Castiel hears the pain edging his tone. He listens closely, reaching out with his grace and he's surprised when Michael allows it. Allows Castiel to see the deep and abiding love he carries for Anna. The love and the vicious longing and it's so very familiar. It's exactly how he feels about Dean.

"How?" Castiel whispers. "How can you stand it?"

"We're different, you and I," Michael says. He reaches for Castiel's hands, takes them in his own, so big and gentle. "You've always been different from everyone else. And not just in appearance. The rest of us, the other angels, we were born of necessity.”

Michael squeezes Castiel’s hands and his throat moves hard around his next words.

“But you, Castiel. You were born of love."

"This is why? Why...everything?"

"It was an accident. Anna and I were assigned to each other. But...it became so much more than that. I never understood why humans fell in love. Not until I found myself there," Michael says with a chuckle. Castiel doesn't understand how he can laugh at this. Being in love is extremely painful.

"Oh," Castiel says suddenly, stupidly. "I'm in love."

"Yes," Michael says, beaming. "I've been waiting for a long time to hear you say that."

And just like that, Castiel is thrown sideways again.

"What do you mean?"

"Our Father and I always knew you would fall for one of them. You’re so much like them. Your heart was always too big. _That's_ why you've been kept away from Earth, my child," Michael says, leaning forward. "We weren't waiting for a _job_ special enough. We were waiting for a _human_ special enough."

"No, but..." This is too much. Michael's got it all backwards. "No, that's not the way it is, Michael. Dean is...he deserves someone truly wonderful. Someone who can help him get over whatever's holding him in his past," Castiel says sadly.

"Oh Castiel, don't you understand? That thing he can't get over? That thing he keeps looking back towards? It's you."

Castiel opens his mouth, then shuts it again.

"You can't make a good love match with a human already in love," Michael continues while Castiel's busy trying to process anything other than astonishment. "Dean was doomed to poor future-seekings the moment he saw you on the porch of his brother's home."

"Um...I'm having trouble...this isn't making...I don't-"

"Take a deep breath, Castiel," Michael instructs, releasing his hands and sitting back in his chair. "Think about it for a few moments."

Castiel nods, inhales a great amount of air, blowing it out again and shuts his eyes. Too many revelations one right after the other are making Castiel's head spin. And yet, despite the very great shock of discovering he is the son of _the_ Michael, it's somehow nothing compared to the idea that Dean might love him back. All Castiel can think is that he wants to find a way back into Dean's arms. He wants to wrap the human up in his wings and never let go.

"What should I do?" he whispers into the silent room.

"You have to make a decision," Michael says, tone very serious. "You have to decide if he's important enough to leave all this behind."

Castiel's eyes snap open again and he stares at Michael in shock.

"I can do that? Without punishment?"

"Of course, brother," Michael says. "We won't keep you here against your will. But you have to understand where your loyalties lay."

"I..." Castiel doesn't want to leave Heaven. Truly, he doesn't. He loves all his family so deeply, so profoundly that the thought of leaving feels like tearing off one of his very own wings. But living without Dean would be like having no wings at all. For thousands of years, Castiel existed in Heaven. It wasn't until Dean that he really lived.

"They are with him," he says, surprised by how firm he sounds. Michael breaks into another wide smile, his seriousness evaporating.

"Good. I was hoping you'd say that! Now I can give you this," he says and then hands Castiel a request slip he'd hidden under a file folder.

"What's this?"

"Your new assignment," Michael announces happily. Castiel frowns at him, but his curiosity draws his attention down to the words on the sheet.

 

REQUESTER: Dean Winchester

LOCATION: Lawrence, Kansas, United States of America

REQUEST: _Okay, so I'm a fucking idiot. I should have never let you go because...I love you, okay? I'm losing my goddamned...shit, I mean, I'm losing it without you. Obviously. So, Cas, you better get your feathery ass back down here or I swear to God, I'll come up there and drag you out myself._

SPECIFICS: Though this job requires relocation, the assigned angel shall continue in his duty to his Father. The job shall last the length of the requester's life. The assigned angel is encouraged to remain calm and remember this is a free gift from his Father.

ASSIGNED ANGEL: Castiel

"Only fools refuse free gifts," Castiel murmurs to himself, a short amazed laugh bubbling up from his chest.

"What's that?"

"Um, nothing. Just some advice I got from Dean's friend," Castiel says, eyes glued to Dean's name on the page. “Michael, I don’t understand. How can our Father accept that my loyalties lay with Dean?”

“Our Father made you different, Castiel. This isn’t a question of him accepting you, but rather you being exactly what he wanted,” Michael explains. “Remember how I told you that you were the only angel in creation who could possibly complete this love match? Well, I wasn’t kidding.”

“Am I an experiment?”

"Hmm. Well, perhaps we should say you are the beginning of a new generation," Michael says. He's watching Castiel, expression so fond, so completely joyful that when Castiel finally looks up from the sheet, he's startled by the depth of emotion he sees on Michael's face.

"Michael," Castiel starts, then stops again. There's so much he could say. That he's thankful. That he wishes Michael could choose this same path. That he hopes someday Michael can. That he's terrified and excited all at once. But Michael doesn't let him. He just gently tugs the request out of Castiel's hand and slips it into the URGENT slot.

"Go now. This is your reward for waiting all those many long years," he says. "Go and enjoy it."

“Should I…should there be a future-seeking?” Castiel asks. He’s never heard of an angel future-seeking for themselves. He’s not entirely sure it’s possible.

“In this, I think you should rely on faith,” Michael advises. “If you can’t trust yourself, you should trust Dean.”

Castiel nods. That, he can do.

“Besides,” Michael continues, turning back to his pile of requests. “Don’t think for a second I didn’t future-seek the crap out of yours and Dean’s future. I wasn’t about to let my kid go marry just anyone after all.”

“I…”

But there’s nothing to say to that, so Castiel just stares at Michael until he looks up.

“Thank you,” Castiel murmurs. Michael smiles.

“You’re welcome. I expect you back here to report for duty first thing in the morning. But for now, get out of here.”

Castiel does.

 

***************************************

Dean's been pacing way too fucking much lately. And it's all Castiel's fault. He's not even able to pace with a friend because Anna took off as soon as Dean started praying, leaving him alone with his nerves. Which isn't at all fair. Now all Dean has to listen to are his thoughts. His stupid self-defeating thoughts. _What if Cas doesn't answer his prayer? What if he does answer and the answer is no? What if he's disgusted by Dean's confession? What if he's not?_

"Dean?"

"Oh my god!" Dean whirls around to face Castiel, who is standing near his front door, his head cocked to an inquisitive angle. "We gotta get you a bell."

He just raises an eyebrow at Dean and says nothing. Which Dean lets him get away with for a couple of minutes because Dean's scared shitless he's about to get the disappointment of a lifetime. But then the threat of disappointment becomes worse than the disappointment itself.

"Well? Did you get my prayer?" Dean blinks. That wasn't something he ever expected to say. It makes his prayer sound like one of those "Do you like me?" notes kids send in elementary school.

"I did. You said you loved me," Castiel says, possibly with a questioning tone.

"Yeah, well, I've been kinda freaking out down here and I thought, you know. That was probably the reason."

Dean had to be the most awkward romantic in the history of the world. Though, judging by the way Castiel's eyes brighten with pleasure, he doesn't seem to mind. But he also keeps quiet and although his wings are thrashing fit to die, Dean can't really tell what that means.

"Well? You got anything to add to that?" he finally asks.

Castiel comes a bit closer. "I'm not very good at this," he confesses.

"Yeah, you and me both, buddy," Dean says.

"You must forgive me if I do something wrong, but I came here to tell you that I feel the same way and if you'll have me, I was hoping I could stay. With you," Castiel says shyly and Dean thinks it's actually possible for someone's heart to stop and speed up at the same time. Blood rushes to his head, making him feel like he might faint with it.

"I sent a threatening blasphemous prayer to Heaven, Cas. I was kinda serious about this whole thing," he says by way of answer to Castiel's request. Castiel smiles and bounces on the balls of his feet, his wings curling around his front.

"I'm glad."

Another weird silence, then Dean sighs. Their very short romance has a real blind leading the blind kinda feel to it. If Dean doesn't make some kind of move, they are liable to just stare at each other for the rest of their lives.

Not that this sounds all _that_ bad. But Dean feels there are even better things to come.

"C'mere," he says, holding out his hand and loving the thrill he gets when Castiel immediately obeys. He winds his arms around Castiel's waist and when Castiel's wings close around his shoulders the way they did at Zazel's house, he lets out a long satisfied sigh.

"This right here? _This_ is the reason you got big-ass wings," Dean murmurs into Castiel's neck. His entire body, from his shoulders on down to his heels are being caressed by soft warm feathers and already Dean can't wait to go to sleep and wake up wrapped up in wings.

"Ah, you think I've been made for you, but Michael says it's the opposite way around," Castiel says with a bit of a teasing tone Dean really likes. Not that he understands what Castiel means, but he'll have to ask later, when he's not intent on kissing Castiel for real. That little peck on his temple early was nowhere near enough.

"Whatever you say, angel-boy," Dean says. He cups one of Castiel's cheeks. "This is what humans do when they are in love. Don't let me catch you doing it with anyone else, okay?"

"Okay," Castiel says very seriously.

Then Dean kisses him, gentle at first, but quickly turning deep and intimate and when Castiel makes that little moaning noise Dean nearly choked upon hearing at their one dinner together, Dean kisses him that much harder. His hands slide around to Castiel's back, to his wing joints and Dean wraps his fingers around both of them.

Castiel loses it a little.

There's a growling noise and then Dean is being pushed back against his sofa, down onto it. The kiss breaks apart long enough for Castiel to draw a ragged breath, his blue eyes bright with desire. The wings curl forward, under and around Dean’s body, cradling him close.

"What else do humans in love do?"

"C'mere and I'll show you," Dean says and when Castiel obeys him again, Dean does just that.

Being in love is so awesome.


End file.
